


history would call us an unequal match

by juliannakatharina



Category: Elizabeth (Movies), Historical AUs - Fandom, Historical RPF, Mary Queen of Scots - Fandom, Reign (TV), The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5584381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliannakatharina/pseuds/juliannakatharina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the insincere marriage negotiations between Mary, Queen of Scots and Lord Robert Dudley actually came to reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Should I? Your sister wed the bedfellow of the English Queen?”_ – Mary to the Earl of Moray ([The 2013 film, Mary Queen of Scots](https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00LTYSAPS/ref=ox_sc_sfl_title_10?ie=UTF8&psc=1&smid=A13RHI0WQR7224))

Back in March of 1564, Mary had laughed in disbelief, when the ambassador expressed her English cousin's absurd suggestion that Mary should marry her own alleged lover, Lord Robert Dudley. The poor ambassador however made it clear to Mary the offer had not been a joke. Her cheeks had coloured with indignation. Mary countered with the question of why Queen Elizabeth did not marry the man herself. The ambassador had no such answer to give. 

It had to be a very poor jest for it was an _insult._  

She marry Elizabeth's lover? Mary did not find it laughable that Elizabeth would dare suggest such a lowly suitor to Mary, an anointed queen with unquestionable legitimacy. She had been the wife of the Dauphin of France and was for a short time, the Queen Consort of France. Perhaps even worse, it was believed this upstart courtier had a hand in his late wife's death to free himself to marry Elizabeth. Not to mention the father and grandfather of this man had been disgraced and executed for treason. 

Why would Mary Stuart, a young and desirable queen wish to marry such a man? 

A polite refusal had been on her lips, when the ambassador said the marriage to this Lord Robert Dudley would bring her recognized rights to the Elizabeth's throne. 

 _A bluff_ , a few warned to deaf ears. Moray and Maitland were suddenly eager for the match. Mary entertained this insulting offer with as much grace as she could muster. She did not wish to refuse this unsavoury Robert Dudley's suit in haste without trying to extract a clause of Mary being named Elizabeth's official heir to the English Throne.

In hindsight, she should have known to not trust Elizabeth's word, which revealed to be as inconstant as the wind. Mary's natural instinct was to balk and stubbornly refuse to listen to _anyone_  who dared to try to tell her who to marry. She had ignored her Uncle Claude's meddling and had rejected Catherine de Medici's consolation offer in her thirteen year old son Henri, Duke de Anjou's suit.

_What chance was young Henri going to be King of France?_

If only Mary could see the future like the strange Nostradamus who predicted Henri II's death at just forty years young. She might have seriously considered her younger former brother in law. 

The temptation of being named Elizabeth's heir and of possibly meeting Elizabeth herself in exchange for this Lord Robert proved to give Mary enough pause.  

* * *

 

By spring, the Dudley marriage negotiation proceeded far enough that portraits were formally exchanged. Still Spain had no response on a marriage between Mary and the heir, Don Carlos. Mary was annoyed when Maitland returned to Scotland from the continent without the quick results she impatiently wanted.  

It was then it was learned from secondhand reports that Dudley was as equally disinterested as she of his Queen's offer of his hand. It was whispered, Robert had feigned an illness to delay coming to Scotland to meet Mary in person.  

Unfortunately, for him and Elizabeth, the young Henry Stuart, the eldest son of the Lennoxes, had fallen gravely ill (said to be from his sexual transgressions) and would not fully recover until near the new year of 1565. Thus, the girlish long legged lad never got to meet again the widowed Mary, queen of Scots until she was already bound to the Earl of Leicester. 

How would have history turned out if young Henry had gone to Scotland? 

* * *

 

Mary stared at Lord Robert Dudley's portrait presented to her by the English ambassador, Randolph. The Italian painter had depicted her English suitor as [a handsome figure with dark brown hair and light blue eyes.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Dudley,_1st_Earl_of_Leicester#/media/File:Robert_Dudley.jpg) She admitted to herself that Dudley had the look of a king or prince and appeared to be well made.

She turned to Sir Thomas Randolph and asked him, if the painting were a true likeness to the man. Randolph promptly replied that it was. The English ambassador then went on to neutrally describe Dudley as tall in stature, athletic, and well educated. Mary politely smiled and complimented her unequal suitor's portrait. She felt too tired to make a witty jab at her intended's expense. One of her lords said oft repeated lines, why didn't his queen not take this man for her own?   

_Yes, why do you not marry him yourself, Elizabeth?_

Later in private, Mary peered at the portrait with appraising eyes. 

"What do you all think of my lord Dudley?" she asked her longtime female companions. "Do you think he has the bearing of a Prince?" The four Marys  stepped forward to get a better look at the portrait.  

"I wonder, does the size of his codpiece truthfully reflect his lord's-?" giggled Lady Mary Livingston in a loud whisper. Mary's eyes widened wondering if Lusty had caught her staring in that area for longer than was appropriate. Fleming clapped her mouth as she burst into laughter. 

"Lusty!" howled Lady Mary Beaton. 

"How obscene," breathed Mary Seton trying not to smile. 

"Well our queen should ask the Queen Elizabeth of her personal assessment on this detail of our Lord Dudley," suggested Lady Mary Fleming still laughing as she poured two glasses of wine. She served Mary first before taking a sip of her wine cup. Mary frowned prudishly at the thought of marrying her cousin's _great_ lover. 

"Should I ask for my sister-cousin for her secondhand gowns as well?" snorted Mary with a half-smile as she leaned back in her chair, the wine untouched. The proud Lady Mary Seton glared the portrait with disapproval at the thought of her queen and friend marrying a nobleman so beneath her. Lady Mary Beaton gave her a hug and shrugged, 

"Perhaps, this Lord Dudley is not the worst Englishman you could marry. Our lords seem keen on the match so long as your hereditary rights are recognized in the succession of England." 

Mary nodded, "My authority will no longer be undermined by my subjects turning to England if I named heir." 

Little did Mary know, that Moray and Maitland were tensely pacing around their studies because their letters had been replied with a serpentine letter by William Cecil with no binding pledge from Queen Elizabeth to name Mary her heir. 

_He certainly cannot be the best either._

_Is he worth the price to my dignity?_

The five young women did not remember that many years ago in the very same room here at Stirling Castle, they had all wept at the news of Fleming's father, Macolm Fleming amongst the ten thousand Scots slain at the lost Battle of Pinkie Clough to the English. 

Seeing her mistress' frown deepen, Flamina added, "Perhaps, King Philip will change his mind and propose you marry his heir, Don Carlos." 

_God willing._

"I wrote to Elisabeth, my dearest sister, his wife," she mentioned with a last tendril of hope on a marriage with the Spanish heir. 

Mary did not wish to think of Catherine de Medici and her daughter Elisabeth having something to do with the failed marriage match with the infirm Spanish heir. Catherine had never loved her as much as King Henri and their children had loved Mary. But Elisabeth, her dearest friend, whom Mary loved so much, had to have no knowledge or part in Philip's refusal. After all, they had wept and embraced, when Elisabeth had left France to marry King Philip. 

_Elisabeth would not betray me so._

"Have Your Grace received a letter from your uncles or your grand-mama?" asked Seton quietly. 

She loved them with all her heart, but her Guise family back in France still sought to control her for their own ambitions. Uncle Claude had negotiated a match with the Archduke Charles behind her back. Mary had refused angrily that her uncle had done such a thing without her consent as if she were still the same child-queen who signed blank documents at his behest. Perhaps, she still was resentful towards her uncles as it was their advice to proclaim herself Queen of England, which caused her bad relations with the English. Underneath her pride, a tiny part of her wondered if she perhaps should have allowed Uncle Claude to guide her in this matter. 

_The Archduke is not very wealthy but he is a least a Hapsburg. Not a traitor's son who owed everything he had to Elizabeth._

Caught in a vise because Philip of Spain still supported Elizabeth and Catherine de Medici had no use for Mary. The 'rough wooing' by Henry VIII and his son Edward had been continued in a different fashion by Elizabeth ruthlessly insisting that she had the right to approve of who Mary Stuart wedded. 

Stubborn pride prevented Mary from writing to her Uncle Claude or even her grandmother Antoinette, asking them to reopen the negotiations with the Hapsburg archduke. 

Mary lied with a cheerful smile, "No, my Seton, I have not." 

"Come now, let's send for David and have some music as we play cards," Mary ordered, rising to her feet and leading her ladies out of her presence chamber to the small private supper room. Mary glanced with a frown and resentful eyes at the portrait before the door was closed. 

_Please, God, send me a husband that is not Elizabeth's lover!_

* * *

Blair Castle, Blair Atholl - Summer Progress of 1564

Even months later after the court's progress to the north in July, everyone was still unsure if these marriage negotiations were at all serious on Elizabeth's part. The Scottish were hopeful and serious on their part, despite not wholly believing that Elizabeth was truly serious in giving up her beloved favourite. Mary held out hoping another more suitable foreign or English offer would come her way and she could break it off. Upon her own ambassador's return from England, there was disappointingly had no word to the otherwise and an only vague pledge of her status as heir.

Sir Melville seemed uncomfortable as he described to Mary, the investiture of Robert as the Earl of Leicester. He kept Mary unaware that Elizabeth had tickled and touched the neck of Leicester familiarly during the ceremony.

Regardless, Mary herself did not wish to marry this man without the certainty of her being recognized as the heiress of the English throne.

She received only assurances that Elizabeth preferred Mary's claim over the Grey sisters, but still the endorsement of Mary's place as Elizabeth's successor withheld.   

Still the marriage negotiations did not fall through as everyone expected. Elizabeth had been waiting for Mary to outright reject the marriage, but Mary had not done so. Impatiently Mary felt she could not wait any longer and having been blocked from her preferred powerful, Catholic suitors. Catherine de Medici had cooled from her offer to her third son. Philip of Spain now was in favour of a match with the Archduke Charles, but the Archduke and his father Ferdinand preferred a marriage with Elizabeth over her. 

Mary could not believe she had agreed to the degrading match. Robert was stunned and heartbroken that he would not be at the side of his beloved Elizabeth for the rest of his life. 

It was the end of September and the marriage was sealed by proxy. Her half-brother James had stood at her side in the Earl of Leicester's place for the wedding. James assured her that the marriage would be prove to be advantageous.

She could not help but to wonder, _For who though?_

It was too late for Mary to change her mind and decline the match. Far too late for Robert to make any last minute fight against the marriage. It was said later that Sir William Cecil, Thomas Randolph, William Maitland, and James Stewart, the Earl of Moray were the champions of this match. On the former's part, Cecil had no inclination for a settlement with the Scottish Queen and had not pushed Elizabeth into honouring her commitment. Cecil also wished to be rid of Robert's influence on the Queen and held the hopes with Dudley married that Queen Elizabeth would finally marry a less problematic suitor. It was said that Cecil could stomach a Dudley king of the lesser country of Scots. All the Pro-Anglo, Protestant lords of Mary's parliament supported the match because Dudley was no Catholic prince or king. 

A date was set and preparations were underway for the actual wedding in October at the hall of Holyrood Palace. Her summer progress had distracted her from dwelling on her upcoming marriage. It was not until the Earl of Leicester and his retinue had arrived at Holyrood Palace, that she fully realized her widowed state would come to an end. She would have to put her white lace mourning veils away and her black mourning gowns. 

_I shall be La Reine Blanche no more._

Lying in the grass with one of her hounds, Mary recalled her sumptuous, glittering first wedding to her sweet, but sickly Francis and later their coronation. The pure white of the fluffy clouds reminded her wedding gown. 

 _It was the happiest day of my life._ She had said so to Catherine. Sounds of children's laughter broke her reverie of the wedding dancing. Mary lifted her head and saw some children at a distance. There was a young fair haired girl of six who stood tallest amongst the rest. Mary smiled nostalgically. How she missed her childhood with the Valois princes and princesses. 

The smile faded and she lay her head back on the ground. 

The Earl of Leicester was not a dear friend of hers like her dear Francis had been. Her new husband by proxy was nothing but a stranger likely sent by his Queen to spy on her, and to control her. If the rumours about his late wife were true, perhaps he would seek to dispose of Mary too. Those were the thoughts Mary mused upon until her French guards came and found her.

"Monsieurs, you look upon the wyfe of the grate English horse-keeper!" 

* * *

 Holyrood Palace- mid September 1564

The Earl of Leicester strode and before her he bowed lowly. 

Mary grudgingly had to admit God had made Leicester handsome of strong build and good looks. He was more handsome in person than the portrait had depicted. Mary was struck by his height. He was not much taller than her statuesque 5'11 but he also was not shorter than her as so many men were. His swarthy skin was pale, she supposed it was because he was cold, dressed in thick dark velvet and wool and likely very tired from the journey. It did not cross her mind that his whole world had been turned by its head. 

"My lord Leicester, welcome to Scotland," she greeted with charming smile with a hand held out to this handsome stranger who still bowed deeply before her, but underneath her smile she felt a sense of foreboding and irony?  

How had it gone from Mary five years ago, joking about the scandal surrounding Elizabeth and her ' _horse keeper'_ to Mary wedding the very same man. Mary did not know that the man who now held her hand, had then quizzed Nicholas Throckmorton's secretary Robert Jones, about Mary's jokes about Robert killing his wife Amy to make way for Elizabeth.  

"Your Grace, thank you," he returned with a kissed on her hand. Leicester's eyes were brighter and intense in person, something the artist did not or could not convey in his medium. 

She brushed her thoughts off as silly. Her cousin would not send a murderer for a husband. Mary tried not to dwell on Leicester's family history, which she heard from gossip.

 

 

> (Back in France, Mary had been scandalized to hear of Dudley's father had been executed for his failed plots (ironically supported by the French) against her other English cousin, the late Catholic Queen Mary Tudor, for placing his son and his daughter in law (another English cousin of hers, Lady Jane Grey) on the throne. Robert, along with his brothers had been imprisoned too, but Mary would not learn that until tongues wagged at Elizabeth's open favour for Robert. As well, long ago, Dudley's grandfather had been executed by Elizabeth's father, King Henry VIII for reasons Mary had not bothered to learn of.)

"Did my lord have an uneventful journey?" Mary questioned. 

During their first meeting, the Earl of Leicester was polite and courteous to Mary. Though to all onlookers, it was very apparent that he would rather be anywhere else than the Scottish court. Other than a couple of curious stares, Mary could tell he was resigned and deeply morose. He reminded her of an abandoned dog longing for its original master. Dudley did not bother to make even a half hearted attempt to _appear_ to make the best of their arranged marriage. Thomas Randolph again reddened with embarrassment and made excuses to Scottish lords. Randolph wrote another letter of complaint to Robert's elder sister Mary's husband, Henry Sidney. 

* * *

 

In honour of Robert and the English guests, Mary held several days of feasting and festivities. By the last night before the wedding took place, Mary had charmed her English guests except for her future husband. Mary had overheard one noble remark in English to Lord Robert of his fortune to wed a queen of such beauty and grace. Mary felt Robert's gaze and looked over at him with a dazzlingly smile to which he slowly smiled in return with a deferential dip of his head. She couldn't overhear his quiet reply to the noble. Moments later, Dudley surprised her by coming forward with a bow to request a dance with her. His smile faded, when the dance happened to be the popular yet scandalous Italian Volta. The pair executed the dance steps perfectly, lacking only in the passion. 

"My lord, I am not your choice of a queen to take as wife, am I?" Mary asked in French after they had finished their dance. Robert's mind had appeared to be elsewhere throughout the volta. Mary clapped as the next dance commenced, but she caught Robert stiffened at her bluntness.

He suddenly grew interested in the cup of wine in his hand instead of making a great show of courtly words that she expected in a seasoned courtier. 

"I made no illusions that I was a worthy contender for Your Grace's hand." Somehow that did not mollify her pride. His utter unfeigned disinterest in _her_ provoked her.Her vanity was stung as she could not comprehend how  _she_ could be not desired as a wife. 

"My lord was not my first choice for a husband either," she snapped with her own bitterness. Her raised voice was loud enough to be overheard by Maitland and Moray. Moray downed his cup of wine and walked away to find the English ambassador or his wife, Agnes. 

Elizabeth had yet again evaded naming Mary her heir and has now indirectly denied Mary, the freedom to marry for love.

It rested on her council headed by Moray and Maitland to extract from the dithering English Queen, the sole clause Mary wanted from this marriage. 

Mary had no particular man in mind, but the idea of romantic love. Mary's young heart wished for love, to love and to be loved. She was a queen, yes, but was a woman, a human who desired nothing more than to enjoy the pleasure of love. Her arranged marriage to Francis had been a love match. Robert Dudley, despite being ten years her elder, was handsome and witty enough to make Mary fall for him if she could reconcile with his lack of royal blood. If Mary could ever accept the fact he had been Elizabeth's lover. 

Regardless, Dudley did not look like he would ever be in the mood to try to love or like Mary. Mary also knew his heart and loyalty was far away in England and had the correct inkling that it would never change allegiance. Robert finally looked at her and at her hand on his arm. He opened his mouth to say something, but clever Maitland had approached her. Mary was glad for the interruption for she did not want to hear his insincere words. The sham of a marriage, the unequal match of a Scottish Queen and an English Master of the Horse was too much to swallow. Mary was very sensitive about her unblemished reputation and her royalty. What was the entirety of Europe thinking of this marriage? 

_The Queen of Scots has been played for a fool by the bastard English Queen._

She glanced over her shoulder at her new husband's sullen face. It was a slight comfort to see how Robert was as miserable as she was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francis is based off the historical Francis II not Reign! Francis. I haven't watched a full season of Reign tbh.

**Mary**

the Hall of Holyrood Palace, October 10th 1564

It was a warm that autumn day, quite unusual for the time. Perhaps, God saw the unusualness in this unequal match, a Queen marrying a foreign nobleman who had no royal blood, no powerful familial connections or anything to make him of equal rank. 

The Queen Mary wore a mourning gown of the inky black satin (a sharp contrast to her favoured colour of white) to her second wedding. It was a beautiful gown, but nowhere near as stunning as the pearl white wedding gown she had worn, when she became Queen-Dauphiness at the tender age of fifteen. Mary thought it was both fashionable and more importantly, symbolic of her widowhood. Her wedding to the Earl of Leicester would not be at all as opulent in comparison to her wedding with darling Francis. 

Lady Mary Seton had done exquisite work with Mary's long bright auburn hair. Her pale, flawless skin glowed in the candlelight of the hall of the palace as did her glittering jewel adornments. Mary had chosen her finest pieces out of her vast collection of jewels including the long strands of pearls gifted to her by her former mother in law, Queen Catherine de Medici. She also wore a crown containing her Tudor grandmother's diamond, like she had in her first marriage. This time around, the crown had been redone to cause less strain on her long neck. Her wedding attire was to show that she was a _true_ Queen Regnant, however, Robert had dressed equally well for his new role as king consort. He wore a rich dark blue velvet doublet adorned with gold. Whether the two cared or not, they made a handsome pair in the hall of Holyrood Palace.

Mary had not slept well the night before and it was not due to excitement she had felt six years ago. Mary and Princess Elisabeth had whispered and giggled together all night before she had wedded Francis. Was it just nerves or fear of this unknown Englishman? Her hazel-brown eyes detected similar signs of lack of sleep in Dudley's blue eyes. His body was stiff as if he were standing before the executioner's block not his royal bride. Mary's vanity was again insulted. How could she be that repugnant to him? He was the unsavoury one, not _her_.

_He had murdered his wife to make room to marry the bastard Elizabeth!_

At least she had swallowed her Stuart pride to disguise her misgivings. Robert's mouth was tight as they said their vows in both Catholic and Protestant rites. It was a concession that pleased her Protestant lords and worried the Catholics. Mary did not change the ceremony in consideration of Robert's personal faith. Mary did it more to show Elizabeth how conciliatory she was to her Protestant subjects. Hopefully, there would no more excuses to not name Mary, the heiress presumptive of the English throne.  

She fumbled a little as she was ignorant of the Protestant way. Robert mumbled the correct words to her after she had made another mistake. She smiled hopefully in a grateful manner as they clasped hands. He gave the barest of nods before slipping three gleaming rings onto her finger. At the end of the ceremony, Robert gave her a quick and chaste kiss then departed leaving Mary alone to hear her Catholic Mass. 

_What would Maman say?_

From a Dauphin-King husband to a horse master of traitor's blood. 

_Maman, forgive me._

_I am married to a Protestant._

The great matter of religion would unfurl sooner than later between the Catholic queen and her new Protestant consort in a domestic matter of which faith their future children will be raised in should Mary and Robert have any, would be a contentious discussion. Mary was the anointed queen and a devout Catholic, to her the question was simple her heirs will be Catholic as she brought up. Mary sensed that she would be soon be pressured by everyone from Robert, her half-brother Moray, to Queen Elizabeth in England to permit her future heirs to be Protestants. Her Catholic lords who she had alienated by supporting the Protestant lords for the sake of peace, her fellow Catholic rulers, and the Pope in Rome would put pressure on her from the other side. Mary vowed that her children would be raised Catholic regardless of what her new husband or her cousin want. Even her brother James would not have a say. With her thumb, she rubbed the gold band of the large diamond middle ring that Robert moments ago had put on her hand. Mary felt uneasy as she knew in order to have an heir, she and Leicester would have to be intimate.

* * *

 

The wedding feast was grand and the time went by quickly. It was a merry event for everyone except for the bridegroom who lacked any enthusiasm. Mary had not wanted the dancing and revelry to end in order to prolong the wedding night from occurring. Robert and Mary had only danced thrice before he retreated to his seat. Mary did not join him, choosing to dance as often in order to not think about anything at all. Robert watched with a sullen face. 

Unfortunately, she could not dance away from her marital duty. Mary laid in her bed dressed in her nightgown. Her ladies and maids in waiting dismissed after they had helped disrobe her. Lady Mary Fleming gave her a look of sympathy as she shut the door behind her. Mary played with a frizzy curl as she awaited the ribald sounds of the lords, including Moray as they would put Robert in bed with her. Mary flushed as they entered and was thankful that Robert had dismissed them, before they could gawk for too long. 

"My ardor cannot wait another moment, my lords," he excused with a smile. Mary's eyebrow raised, but she smiled serenely as the lords excused themselves. She tried to make eye contact with her elder half brother, but Moray did not spare a single glance at Mary.

 _Remember when you sniped at Randolph in my bedroom at Perth?_  

> _"Why do you not persuade your own queen to marry, but trouble our queen with marriage yet never had more thought thereof than she had of her dinner when she is hungry?" - James, Earl of Moray to Randolph[ pg. 185](https://www.amazon.ca/Queen-Scots-True-Life-Stuart-ebook/dp/B00L0M73TI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1509070098&sr=8-1&keywords=john+guy)_

She wanted some sign of sympathy from him, but not for the first time or the last she was left let down. 

As the door was shut leaving the new couple alone, Mary sank back into the bed with her heart beating fast. Several minutes past before Mary and Robert looked at each other awkwardly. He removed his night robe and stood in his nightshirt at the foot of the bed.

"Wine?" she offered to break the silence. Mary glanced over at the decanter on the table. 

"No, thank you, my queen. I have had enough wine already." His face was flushed and he laughed nervously as he ran a hand through his dark hair. Mary nodded and laughed nervously. 

"You may call me, Mary," Mary added, "If you wish to, husband." Francis had been her sweet husband. The word felt different now as she addressed to the swarthy Englishman. Robert's jaw tightened uncomfortably at being called  _husband_. 

"Well, Mary. It would only be fair if you called me by my name," smiled Robert as he leaned against the ornate bed post. They gazed at one another for several pregnant minutes. Mary sighed deeply and patted the empty space of the bed next to her. 

"Robert," his name felt funny on her tongue, "I don't think we can consummate our marriage with you standing there."

Robert glanced at the wine decanter as if thinking over his decision to forgo a cup of wine. Mary breathed nervously as he pulled the coverlet and sat upright next to her in the vast bed. She had been sixteen and her late husband, Francis had been fourteen, when they had wedded. Adoring but sickly Francis had died before he had become a proper man, not that Mary had been aware of this. Mary had felt at ease with sweet, tender Francis even if he had never truly got her with child. She had loved her friend and husband since they were children. Mary had deeply mourned him, her dearest love. She had written poems about her loss and still felt his loss even five years later. Her boy-husband who had adored her as much as she had him. To a lesser degree, Mary had felt the loss of her role as Queen consort of France, the role she had been brought up to fulfill since she was a small child. Mary knew France better than the country of her birth, the country of which she was the anointed queen of. She missed the only family she had known: the formidable Guises and the French Royal Family. Mary had wept deeply, when she had learned her dear Uncle Francis had been assassinated the year before. 

She was alone to rule her strange country and alone with a stranger who was expected to father her children.  

Mary summoned her courage, a courage her favourite uncle Francis and Maman would have been proud of. Even she imagined her royal father, King James might have been proud of her though he unfortunately never knew his only living royal child. It was her duty as a woman and as a queen to marry and beget heirs. 

God had intended for her to return to Scotland. God must have intended that she marry this Robert Dudley. For not even Dudley's resistance could prevent their marriage.  

Mary looked over her new husband as he settled into bed next to her. Again she could not help but to compare Robert to Francis. In contrast to Francis, her second husband was of good health and of similar height as Mary. Robert was a grown man of thirty two years. His dark hair and swarthier skin contrasted against her bright hair and luminous pale skin. He was very handsome. Mary's eyes trailed to the dark hairs on his chest visible from the deep v of his cream coloured linen nightshirt. A ~~man~~ husband she hardly knew and in few moments he would know her sacred body. She felt strange feelings of curiosity and feelings she had not known before. 

_God give me strength._

Robert and Mary stared at each other for several moments, before he leaned in to tentatively kiss her. She could taste that he had drank his fill at their wedding feast. The feel of his moustache against her skin was foreign to her in a pleasant and slightly scratchy way. Mary trembled at first yet after awhile she found she did not mind the feel of his lips on hers. She wondered as their shy kissing intensified if he wished she were his English queen, her cousin Elizabeth. Imagining that Mary was shorter in stature with lighter red-gold hair than Mary's own bright auburn tresses and long limbs. Her thoughts were interrupted when their long noses bumped and Robert began to kiss her long slender neck.  

"Robert," she whispered instead of formally calling him Earl Leicester, which she almost did address him as.

"Mmm?" he mumbled against her skin. Mary observed he seemed to be elsewhere and assumed he was drunkenly imagining of Elizabeth or whatever his line of thinking was. Mary thought of an eloquent way of saying she was still a virgin. She was a frank and honest person and she really wanted him to know. His hands were touching her waist and her breasts. She could barely hid a moan at his touch. What was going to happen next?

"I beseech you to- I know I was married before, however I am not well versed in the-I am still a" Robert looked at her with wide eyes and her voice trailed off. If it was possible for him to look more discomforted by her admission, he did. He pulled up her nightgown to cover her bare breasts. Robert looked about to ask to sleep on the hard floor or in the stables with the horses. Perhaps she should not have stopped him and maybe the consummation would be over with by now. "I do not know-" She had once ignorantly believed she had been with child. Lady Mary Livingston, the first of the four Marys to be wedded, had told her what it was like to fully lose her maidenhead. "Did you not know?" 

"I should have remembered, Your Gra- Mary," interrupted Robert trying to lessen Mary's discomfort. He sighed, "This is not an ideal night for both of us."

"No," agreed Mary with relief that he did not behave like a brute.

"Would you like some wine, before we -er- proceed?" Mary shook her head.

"I am not afraid," she declared with a brave face. Mary looked at him and ordered, "Kiss me again." Robert obliged. He was gentle, but the affair was still awkward for Mary. The twinge of the fullness inside of her and the feel of her maiden's blood was discomforting. She blushed as she made such unnatural sighs and moans. Yet in her core, it had felt so natural. 

Mary had not _enjoyed_ being bedded by- her face was aflame at the thought. Robert had removed his nightshirt and her curious eyes roamed everywhere. Despite being slightly drunk, Robert did not cry out her cousin's name but she sensed Elizabeth was in their bed anyhow. To think, Elizabeth had jokingly or not wished for them all to live in England together at her court _as a family_. Mary laughed to herself at the ludicrous idea, releasing some feelings as she refused to cry in front of him after he had dispassionately bedded her. Did Robert even notice her? His eyes were closed half the time. Her strange laughter caused Robert to frown in confusion and curiosity.

"Your Grace?" he asked as he rolled onto his side next to her. Mary's laughter dissipated and she turned away as far as she could from him in the bed. "Have I displeased you? Have I hurt you, Mary?" His deep voice is filled with discomfort. Mary ignored him. "I am sorry, _Marie_." His apologies are not enough for her even if a small part of her did want to forgive him. His use of her French name did not endear him to her, if that had been his intention. She felt him shift in their bed and a light brush of his hand on her arm but it lasted less than a few seconds as if he had changed his mind. Mary turned back to face him, determined that she would never be afraid of him. She may be born a woman, of the weaker sex, but she will prove to her English husband that she did not lack in courage. Mary married him for one sole reason, the promise of the throne of England, which she had the strongest hereditary rights to. Emboldened by the thoughts of her ambition and her courageous nature, Mary spoke in a whisper to his ear,

"Lie back and think of your England, mon mari anglais." England would be hers. She was the true queen in the eyes of every Catholic in Europe. They may laugh and gossip about her making a scandalous and unequal match. There was already whispers circulating that he would plot to kill her by the new year. She would survive a wife-murderer with traitor's blood. As a child, she had survived being hunted by the English. Mary was confident she would be the Stewart to not be defeated by a Tudor, bastard or not. 

Dudley hid his shock well, in fact he looked up at her without any discernible emotion. His impassive mask dissolved soon enough. Dudley's eyes went dark and his body responded to Mary tentatively resting on his chest before kissing him fully. She smirked as his hands roamed her statuesque figure. _I am not so repugnant to you._  Mary groaned with pleasure as she imagined herself atop of the throne of England as she was presently atop her English king consort. Mary thought at the very least this aspect of their marriage may be pleasant even if everything else would be strained and forced. The moment their breaths had returned to normal, Robert quietly made it clear that he was displeased with her mocking words,

"I will always think of England." If he had expected to make her angry or jealous, he had sorely failed. Mary was not pining for this stranger's love. She gave her love freely to those who loved her. Sadly, Mary felt she would never again feel the joy of loving someone and being loved back again. 

"Why? She has sent you away," Mary reminded him unleashing her frustration upon him. He looked up at the canopy of her bed stung by the truth in Mary's words. Mary felt a tiny flicker of guilt at his devastated expression. She tucked the coverlet over herself and rolled onto her side for the second time that night. Mary did not look over her shoulder but she _knew_ there were tears in Robert's eyes. Mary curled into a ball and stared at the darkness of the chamber. She listened for the usual stillness of the night and it was different tonight. All she could hear was Robert's breathing, which was loud and foreign. Mary jerked her head up when she felt Robert move. Her heart pounded as she watched him rise to sit on the edge of the bed. Mary uttered into the darkness,

"Bonne nuit, Robert." Robert turned his head and Mary could make out his profile in what little light came through the window. 

"Good night, Mary," he replied back softly. Mary nestled her head back onto the soft pillow and suddenly it became too much. Her own eyes spilled out the tears down her pale cheeks and onto the pillow as she fell asleep. 

_Have I made a terrible mistake?_

* * *

**Mary**  

St Andrews, December 18th 1564

Thereafter, Mary and Robert were careful to not spend a moment alone with one another during the day. Careful of gossip, Robert and Mary spent their nights in each other's chambers out of duty. Often they just slept with their backs turned from each other. To her court and to the world, the Scottish Queen and her English King Consort have proven to be a good albeit unequal match. Despite the knowledge that Dudley had been the favourite if not lover of Elizabeth's, the Venetian and French ambassadors remarked on the handsomeness of the couple. Before Thomas Randolph, the English ambassador departed for the English court, Mary bid him to give a message to Elizabeth.

"Tell Her Majesty, my dearest cousin, of our sincere gratitude in her recommendation of my husband, my lord Robert." Mary stroked Robert's bearded cheek before everyone, "I thoroughly enjoy his Englishness." Ambassador Randolph nodded with a deep bow and reddened at her subtle insinuation. Robert pursed his lips. He smiled at the ambassador and wished him safe travels.

"Your Grace, as a subject of England do you not have a message to the Queen of England? Are you not pleased by your marriage to our Queen of Scots?" called out James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell boldly. Everyone in the presence chamber looked from Bothwell to Robert. Robert smiled yet his eyes stared coldly at Bothwell, before he took Mary's hand in his.

"Lord Bothwell, I believe no Christian man has ever felt more wedded bliss than I have with Queen Mary. God willingly, I shall continue to for many years." The lords and ladies clapped, particularly of the Protestant faction, while Lord Bothwell nodded curtly. Mary raised an eyebrow at Robert's speech, but smiled nevertheless. When the cheers and claps died down, Robert addressed Randolph, "Ambassador, please offer my own gratitude to the wisdom of Her Grace, Queen Elizabeth. I disbelieved in my suitability as a candidate for Queen Mary's hand yet Her Grace unwaveringly insisted her recommendation of me. I vow to not let Her Grace down nor my wife, Queen Mary and our subjects." Mary smiled back at her husband, wishing she could wrench away her hand. 

"What a stirring speech, Robert! I almost had a tear in my eye," she snorted, after she shut the door behind her and found Robert was already in her bedchamber. Robert had come up the private spiral stairwell to her apartments from his. He was pouring some ale in two goblets, already dressed in a nightshirt and a fur lined dressing gown, one of her wedding gifts to him.

"Your message to Elizabeth won't stir the sisterly affections that you desire," he countered in a tone to match hers. Robert walked over to her and held out a goblet to her, "I have noted lately that the Earl of Bothwell has been too familiar with you and not just from his little scene today. I don't trust him, Mary."

 _It is you, I don't trust._  Mary waved a dismissive hand and turned down the cup of ale Robert held out in offering.

"I do not deem him to be too familiar with myself. You speak like the mad Earl of Arran. The Earl of Bothwell has done no harm to me. He is a man of loyalty and trustworthiness. It was him who revealed my _cousin_ _'_ s support for the Protestant rebels who conspired against my Mother." 

"Elizabeth did not," he lied.  _Like Elizabeth did not send you to bully me in the royal bedchamber to relinquish my rights by ratifying the Treaty._

"You likely would put much belief in this supposed plot of Bothwell's as if it were real," laughed Mary. Robert sighed and he set down the rejected goblet down. The Earl of Arran had accused the Earl of Bothwell of planning to abduct Mary then spoke erratically of murderers, witches, and devilish spirits, which deemed him to be locked up for insanity.

"You should deal with him with more caution. Not all of those who are against you are going to hide under your bed, Mary." Mary flinched at the horrifying memory of the French poet Chastelard bursting into her chambers as she was preparing to retire for the night. Chastelard had been the first person she had ordered to be executed. Before Chastelard died, he had called her,

 ‘ _the most beautiful and the most cruel princess in the world"_

Mary folded her arms and pondered what Robert said. Bothwell had said Robert would try to make her mistrust everyone but himself. Her husband himself was surrounded by clouds of rumours and plots. 

_"Your Grace, he'll do anything to return to Queen Elizabeth and she will do anything to have him back. With you out of the way of course," warned James Hepburn. Mary was upset, for she was still in a joyous mood from the day prior. Mary had enjoyed a lovely day of horseback riding with Robert. The first time they had felt close to being at ease in one another's company. "They want to make Scotland, a country subordinate to England and Your Grace, a mere figurehead."_

_"His Grace," she had corrected automatically and she said no more._

"This conversation is too wearisome for such a late hour, Robert." Robert frowned in disagreement as he set down his own cup of ale. He looked ready to open his mouth in argument. She sighed, "I will take your observation into consideration." Robert was temporarily satisfied by her final words on the subject of the Earl of Bothwell.

"Very well," conceded Robert as he kissed her forehead. His mouth quirked into a cocky smile. "My Englishness distracts you?"

"Infuriates me," she corrected as she gasped in surprise, when he placed his hands around her small waist. "I should call for my ladies to help with my dress." Mary was not used to his closeness and wondered why he didn't leave and seclude himself in his own chamber. _My cave of desolation,_ he had declared to one of his servants. 

"I can help you well enough," he insisted with a kind smile. Robert seemed more agreeably to be in her presence and Mary did not like to be alone, especially at night. "I have deft hands." He kissed her cheek lightly. 

How long would their dance of cold congeniality and false flirtation last before it grows to be tiresome? Mary did not know what to make of his aloofness and moodiness. His behaviour changed with his supposed concern for her and he would try to be her friend. Then there were moments like now where she felt he wanted to kiss her because he _desired_ to not because he felt obligated to out of marital duty. 

Mary relented. "You are a man of many talents," she remarked as she turned away. His touch as he unlaced the tight lacing and the warmness of his breath on her neck caused her cheeks to blush. She felt unfamiliar fluttering sensations in her stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize if the French is incorrect.
> 
> Question: if they were to have children would they be Stuarts or Dudleys? :/


	3. Chapter 3

**Elizabeth**

Whitehall Palace, _December 3rd 1564_

Elizabeth's change of heart in allowing her beloved Robin into her cousin Mary's marital bed came too late. She had never wanted to let him go but she had convinced herself that it was for best for her, for them, for England. She told herself she had not expected Mary Stuart to accept Robin's suit and not break off the match. Elizabeth had screamed passionately at his sister, that Robin was a traitor for going and she would have him locked in the tower if he ever step foot on English soil again. 

Unforeseen and unexpected was the illness of her cousin Margaret Douglas' son Lord Darnley from his  _indiscretions._ The young pretty fool with Tudor blood and vices was supposed to go to Scotland and tempt Mary Stuart into throwing what little caution she possessed aside. 

 _Damn Douglas' son and Douglas herself_ , she cursed.

Sir William Cecil, was all too pleased by the removal of Dudley from Elizabeth's court and council. He also believed Elizabeth had tempered the potential threat of Mary with a Protestant husband of no royal continental blood. Without Robert in the way, Cecil was no longer jealous or worried about Robert's influence over her. Her Spirit was suggesting princes from the continent of the Protestant faith as suitors for her hand. Elizabeth amused Cecil and the world in pretending she would _seriously_ consider one of the many suitors.

Internally, Elizabeth mourned the loss of her Sweet Robin and his absence affected her deeply. He had been her happiness and for a lapse she had been foolish to ignore how much he had meant to her. Now all she felt was a sense of hollowness. Perhaps, she had given him up to prevent further temptation, but that was not the whole reason. She could never have married him not after the scandal of Amy's death. Elizabeth may have went to bed alone but she had not felt so solitary when he was by her side. 

Elizabeth's vision blurred from another night of crying. She whispered aloud in the dimly lit bedchamber, "I cannot see I no longer have my Eyes." 

* * *

Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the glass mirror. She looked quite pale and her cheeks were hollower from feeling poorly for the past two weeks. Kat sat down by her side and handed her embroidered gloves. Elizabeth took in a breath.

"Will you being going out for a ride this morn, my queen?" 

"No," she replied evenly as she exhaled. Elizabeth had lost the desire to go horseback riding since she became bereft of her Master of Horse. It had been Robin's passion. _Ours and ours_ _alone._  Her black-brown eyes narrowed as she overheard the young maids in waiting chattered quietly as they did their duties.

"Oh, Ann, I heard that he is bewitched by the queen of Scots." There was a pause.  

"Really? I thought the Earl of Leicester adored-"

"She is half-French and was raised in the French court," whispered the newcomer, named Margery. "I have heard the Queen of Scots is considered the most beautiful woman in the world." Elizabeth _knew_ Robert and knew he was not one to fall violently in love with any pretty face. But he had flirted with her cousin Lettice once. She seethed with jealousy at the praise of Mary's beauty and gripped her hand comb so hard. 

Elizabeth saw through the mirror that young Ann gasped in Elizabeth's direction with wide, terrified eyes. Yet, Margary continued in a low whisper, "I heard, Leicester proclaimed his love and happiness to the Scottish court and they say he never leaves her side. I heard he has even become a _Catholic_ out of his love for her. Can you believe it?" Elizabeth relaxed and laughed loudly at the ridiculous gossip. Kat frowned disapprovingly at the young maids who were startled by their queen's strange laughter. 

"Robin converting to Catholicism?" she cackled at Kat. "Even Cecil would not believe that and he despises papists." 

"Enough idle gossip," snapped Kat sharply, before Elizabeth could round on them with her sharp tongue. The maids looked chastened and went back to their work silently.

True, the gossip today was baseless. Elizabeth had a fear of being replaced, of being expendable. Elizabeth wondered often if and or when Robert would fall in love with Mary Stuart. She was assured in his deep love of her, but she was a person with insecurities too. She had heard that Mary possessed a beguiling charm. It was only gossip now, but sometimes gossip stemmed from grains of truth.

No! No, Robert was Elizabeth's and he would curb that young Scottish girl's ambition for Elizabeth's throne or they would let those self-serving Scots swallow up Mary Stuart, her closest threat. 

Once her maids in waiting curtsied at her dismissal, Elizabeth took out the most recent letter she had received from Robert. From his letters, he was still ardent in his love and devotion to her. Elizabeth could not shake the feeling that she could lose Robert's heart entirely, forever. She had given him up, one of her few personal joys. Damn him, if Robin dared to be happy with Mary. _The Scots can destroy him too._

Elizabeth was firmly decided in her decision to never marry. She had made the decision long ago as a child, after the loss of a stepmother and knowing the fates of her own mother and the successive stepmothers. Yet Elizabeth wavered for she truly wished to marry Robert, but her power would be compromised. England always came first and foremost. Elizabeth had ignored the feelings of her heart as Robert left England, seeing the political advantages the match made for Elizabeth and for England. She had prevented Mary from marrying a Catholic or a foreign prince and had lessened the threat of Mary. Yet, Elizabeth flitted with doubt as well regret from the decision. Had she truly neutralized Mary through Robert? Her jealous heart wished for their misery together, but if the marriage was not a reasonable success, it could lead to potential disaster for Robert. She had protected him from his enemies here in England. Yet, it was her that had betrayed him. 

The memory of his angry face when he found out and his desperate tears, when he begged her to prevent the marriage days before he left . Elizabeth felt her eyes sting with regret. 

_I could not marry him. I would not marry him, and risk losing my throne._

"Should I have handed her my throne as well?" Elizabeth wondered aloud as she touched her ring. Kat touched her wrist tenderly.

"Oh, Elizabeth, I hate to see you in such pain." 

"Robin would have married eventually," Elizabeth reasoned half-heartedly. "I don't have to see him with a wife." Elizabeth could not pretend that he was not married for she heard his name with Mary's in the reports from Randolph. Heard his name with hers in the council room, when her advisors would bring up the affairs in Scotland. Elizabeth would never hear his voice or look into his beautiful eyes. Elizabeth ached for his embraces. She had wept that he would no longer be a part of her life in the same way he had been. 

_I won't see him ever again. Impossible without having to also meet her._

"Time and distance shall not abate his love for you." Elizabeth almost laughed at Kat's words. Kat who once reproached Elizabeth for her affection for her married friend and glared disapprovingly at his familiarity with Elizabeth.  _I need him to breathe,_ she had once cried out in response to Kat's pleas to stay away from Robert _._ Like a mother, Kat did not like to see her beloved Bess in pain. Elizabeth swallowed and tucked away his _last_ letter back into the box. 

"I have a meeting, Kat." She rose from her seat and swept out of the chamber with her regal head held high to face her council of advisors.

* * *

**Robert**

Holyrood Palace, January 23 1565

Scotland did not suit him at all. The Scottish royal court was not an extravagant court as was Elizabeth's. Queen Mary's court was not impoverished; however it was apparent that Scotland had less wealth than its neighboring country to the south. 

_It was not home._

It was a lonely place for him, so far away from his family, his friends, and of course, Elizabeth. He missed her as much as he resented her for letting him go this bleak, cold, wet and in most parts a treeless land. 

In Scotland, Robert so far had the support of the Pro Anglo- Scottish lords and the clerics of reformed religion. However, written correspondence with these men differed from the actual face-to-face communication he now had with his new nobles who now called them their king. The warm welcome they gave their king consort did not dissipate his homesickness and his feelings of misery. He knew these rough courtiers wanted him to support their ambitions and their whims.

He wrote many letters to Elizabeth and to his brother Ambrose. He would not admit it but he even missed William Cecil. Not even the pleasantness of his new wife, the Queen of Scots induced the barest feelings of matrimonial or general happiness in his new life in Scotland. 

Robert could not deny that his Scottish born but French raised wife was a very enchanting young woman full of vitality. Despite the fact, Queen Mary could speak in her native Scots without a trace of a French accent as well many other languages (excluding his native English). The Queen of Scots was undeniably French in her manner and style. It was something that aggravated and unnerved the nobles who had ousted the Catholic French powers from Scotland not long before Mary had returned.

He had little else to do but to observe Queen Mary of Scots. Melville had not lied to Elizabeth when he said his queen was taller than she. The young Queen towered over the majority of the men and women in her court. Mary was very tall but delicate in bone. Robert looked at his queen wife in the eye as he danced with her or when he stood in her presence. In his first days, he had frowned with annoyance that she was taller than him in heeled slippers. 

_"Her Majesty is quite tall," he had remarked innocuously to Lady Mary Fleming._

_"Aye, my lord," replied Lady Fleming. "Her Grace's late queen mother was very tall herself as are-or were her lord uncles."_

Since he had first set eyes on Mary Stuart, Robert could not help but compare the beauty of the two Queens. Queen Mary had rich auburn hair similar her Tudor cousin but extremely pale white skin. His Elizabeth had naturally more olive toned skin underneath her whitening makeup and possessed the beautiful dark brown-black eyes, which contrasted against her Tudor light red-gold curly hair.

He stared at the sleeping Scottish-French girl of twenty next him. He brushed away a curl, which had draped across her face during sleep. Mary's nose was also very long but very aquiline, whereas Elizabeth had inherited her slightly hooked nose from her father, King Henry VIII. People considered Elizabeth pretty but no classic beauty, as her mother Anne Boleyn had been considered. 

Robert closed his eyes and saw his love. Elizabeth was enchantingly beautiful to Robert. Elizabeth Tudor was perfect to him. He had been hooked long ago as a young boy by Elizabeth's charms: her wit, charisma, and intelligence. That was first striking difference to the two women. He loved the mixture of sweetness and sharpness that was Elizabeth. Robert found his new wife well educated and intelligent enough, though not of the great mind that Elizabeth possessed. No woman or man had such wit and intelligence as his Bess. How he missed that infuriating woman. 

His thoughts of Bess were interrupted by Mary's leg brushing against his as she turned in her sleep. 

Robert had heard that Mary had a seductive charm that even her enemies grudgingly remarked on her loveliness. Robert had now seen it for himself and he caught himself feeling in danger of succumbing to this charm. To his horror, he found himself wanting to smile at Mary and to laugh as she and her ladies danced. Even in deep sleep from a day of hawking and horseback riding, she was alluring. 

Robert truly enjoyed horseback riding, playing tennis, and hawking with Mary. He pettily liked winning against her. She was a very athletic woman and he saw himself that she was an excellent horsewoman. He smiled proudly, when he saw in her eyes that she thought the same of him. 

He publicly shared sentiments of physical attraction to the Scottish Queen to her courtiers. Robert believed, it was merely the words of his years as a courtier spilling forth. Yet, he did truly find Mary beautiful and he had not realized it yet that he was slowly finding her companionable as a friend. It did not shake his deep love for Elizabeth. They had known one another, since they were pupils together at the ages of nine and eight. His love for Bess was eternal. 

 _He_ had been meant to bring trouble to Mary, not to like her. 

Following the Yuletide festivities, Robert felt uneasy as he grasped the history of the Scottish nobles' inconstant loyalties.

Robert was disquieted by Bothwell. Whispers were said that he and his wife Jean dabbled in witchcraft to advance Bothwell's influence over the Queen. Overwhelmed by the momentous changes in his life, his personal feelings overruled warning signs. He became more withdrawn from his feelings of betrayal after learning Elizabeth was seriously concerning a suitor. Robert halted his half-hearted attempts to charm the love and loyalty of Mary and to remove Bothwell's influence. He had little personal attachment and no sense of protectiveness over the young queen whom was now his wife. In fact, his state of despondency made it clear that he wished he were back on English soil, which was noted by all. 

* * *

**Mary**

Gardens of Falkland Palace, May 3rd 1565

Mary had missed her monthly courses for three months. She woke in the early hours to relieve her sickness in the water closet as Robert slept soundly. Mary thought nothing then the illness came at any hour of the day and lasted for a suspiciously long period. Still she believed it was merely a stomach ailment and considered changing cooks. Another week past, with Mary feeling ill during a meeting with her Council; thankfully, she had not retched in the presence of Robert and the lords.

As far as she knew, Robert had not noticed anything different even in their intimate moments. Mary blushed as she thought of them. His rough bruising kisses he left on her pale neck carefully covered by a ruff. It had to be his lack of breeding, to be so unaffected by her queenly status to ravish her so _savagely._ She had not imagined she would look forward to their _marital duty_. It revulsed her as much as it pleasured her. 

Lady Mary Fleming smiled at Mary as they walked by the damp ornamental hedges from the morning dew. The physician had confirmed the suspicion that Mary was with child. Lady Mary Beaton had urged Mary to send for the royal physician after another swoon and emptying of her stomach after Mass. Mary agreed for her delicate health as she often felt faint.

Lady Mary Beaton walked on the other side of Mary. Lady Mary Sempill (Livingston) and Lady Mary Seton followed. Mary had insisted on going for a stroll after the physician had finished his examination. The crisp, damp air relieved Mary's tender stomach and cleared her head. She did not feel any faint sensations of another swoon. She was in a deliriously happy daze. 

_I carry a child._

"I am very excited for you, Your Grace," gushed Lady Mary Beaton. Mary smiled gaily at one of her oldest companions.

"I am so pleased you all could be there with me, when I learned of this joyous news." Mary pressed a kiss on her dear friend's flaxen hair.

"You are to be a mother," exclaimed Lady Mary Fleming. Mary touched her middle as it dawned on her, she would be a mother of a baby by the end of the year, a prince or princess of Scotland. Mary's thoughts turned to her own beloved mother. Mary hoped to be a great mother like her own late mother, beloved by her child, as she had adored her mother, Marie de Guise. 

"When shall you tell His Grace?" asked Lady Mary Seton curiously. Mary's smile froze at the mention of Robert. 

"Today," she answered vaguely. It was upsetting and disappointing that the man who fathered her unborn child did not profusely love her. Queens were not allowed love, but also she was a woman too. Why did she care if he wanted this child?

Lowborn as he was, Robert still inspired feelings of attraction with his pleasing physique and maturity. The physical aspect of their marriage was pleasurable and Mary believed he thought so too. Mary had slowly grown fond of him; he made good conversation, sharing many of her athletic pursuits and her love for the arts. He had a love for portraiture. Despite her embarrassment of the marriage, they had commissioned a double portrait to commemorate their marriage. 

Why did Mary want him to care about her? Mary dispensed love easily to those who showed loved her or whom she believed to love her. Therefore, the lack of romantic warmth from Robert created another barrier in their marriage. There was enough to begin with.

The Ladies Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston gave her a look. Mary looked away and with a shrug of her shoulders,

"I'll tell him sometime today in private. His Grace is presently attending to some matters." 

"Your Grace is queen and his wife. You of all people can storm in and pull him away from what business he is attending to," exclaimed Lady Mary Fleming eagerly. "Send someone to fetch him, Your Grace." Mary bit her lip in thought.

"Very well, I may summon him," sighed Mary. "I thought we were to see if the flowers and trees from France have sprouted today?"

Lady Mary Beaton whispered, "Send for him anyway, my queen. You are carrying his child, your heir for Scotland." Mary relented and sent a page to find Robert. 

The ground was still too cold for the plants to poke through the earth, according to the royal gardener. In a fortnight, the gardener believed they would sprout. Disappointed, Lady Marys and Queen Mary continued their walk along the still barren fruit trees and chatted about this and that. Lady Mary Fleming gushed about her upcoming wedding to the besotted William Maitland as they walked through the hedge garden. 

"Soon we shall all be married and with children," laughed Mary with joy. The tall Lady Mary Seton gave a small smile and spoke quietly,

"I am not sure I shall."

"Why ever not? You are the daughter of Lord Seton and a beloved friend of our Queen." 

"I feel reluctant in giving up my vow of chastity," explained Lady Mary modestly. 

* * *

  **Robert**

Robert smiled as he read his latest letter from Elizabeth. Elizabeth assured him that he was still high in her favour and he still held her love. The rumours of him being replaced by Christopher Hatton had him seething with jealousy. He sent a torrent of letters to Elizabeth and to his sister, Mary asking about the truth of it. 

_... It had been far too long that you have been out of my sight. I pray we shall see each other soon. Many, you know whom I speak of, are not fond of the idea of meeting her. I don't wish to, but I long to see you. To hear your voice again. I cannot bear the distance, Robin. I sorely regret letting you go. You must know that I prefer you above all the princes in the world._

Robert was elated at the thought of seeing Elizabeth again. In an quick afterthought, he pondered the benefits for Mary. Mary at last meeting Elizabeth would be able to assert her claim to the English throne. Mary complained with frustration to Robert and to the English ambassadors that the promised succession rights had not been granted yet, despite her compliance to marry Robert in exchange for them. 

For years, Mary had wished to meet Elizabeth in person and the meeting had been planned in the summer months of 1562 had never came to be. He tucked away the letters in a locked box, as it dawned on him of the complex position he would be in should the meeting of the two Queens occur. Elizabeth had pretended his late first wife had not existed and jealously would not let him out of her sight. Not that he had ever wanted to be away from Elizabeth. Elizabeth's response to Mary's message had not been pleasant, according to his sources. Robert was unsure if a meeting between the two neighbouring Queens would advantageous from his personal standpoint.

_How would Elizabeth behave?_

_How would the meeting go?_

Robert was interrupted from penning a reply to Elizabeth's letter and looked up at the entrance of Mary's page bowing his sandy head.

"Your Grace, the Queen has requested you in the gardens." Robert nodded and dismissed the young man.

He frowned as he straightened his attire and made his way quickly to the gardens. It was past noon yet the ground was still damp. He spotted his tall, young wife with her four Marys. The ladies curtsied at his approach and immediately excused themselves. Robert wondered if he should even dare mention Elizabeth's sudden renewed interest in meeting her. _To see me._  

Robert took note of Mary's auburn hair hanging loose down past her shoulders. One of her hands clutched her cross and her pale cheeks were rosy.

"Hello, my queen," he greeted Mary with a kiss. "You wished to see me?" Mary's eyes were bright with nervousness. She nodded as she shared a glance with the fair Lady Fleming who stared at them over her shoulder.

"Yes, I did. I have to inform you of something, Robert." He kissed her hand and offered his arm.

"I have news as well to tell you." She clutched Robert's arms gently.

"Oh?"

"You share your news first; it must be of great importance," he insisted, curious as to why he was sent for. Mary opened her mouth but did not say anything. Mary let go of him and began walking. Robert walked after her with his brows furrowing. Mary's complexion was paler than usual and she had an air of uncertainty.

"You may tell me anything," soothed Robert as he wrapped an arm around her narrow waist. He rubbed her hipbone as he waited impatiently. Mary glanced at him for a second then had them halt their walk.  

"I am with child," Mary announced at last in a voice so soft. Robert stilled as he looked down in shock. "My physician has examined me this morn and confirmed my suspicion." Robert brushed his fingers gently over the crimson red velvet of her gown. 

"This will change many things," he murmured unconsciously with a serious face.  Mary misinterpreted it for a look of indifference, causing her long nose to flare in hurt. _A babe._ Robert longed for a marriage like the happy marriage his lord father and lady mother had shared. Despite being already married, Robert had futilely dreamed of such a life with Elizabeth during her first years as queen. Robert had held his hopes until he had morosely said his vows to Mary. Pledging to make a family with Mary of Scotland. 

He had not at all been avoiding Mary's bedchamber as of late and after a childless marriage with his first wife, he finally knew he was capable of siring a child. 

Robert was torn by his natural elation by the announcement, despite the fact the mother of his future child was not Elizabeth. His confusing feelings did not override, Robert's desire to be a father. _A family._  This child and any other children, he should have with Mary would give him a chance to return his family name- the beginning of a new dynasty- from its current tarnished state. A legitimate child of Dudley blood from the male line would be born as his elder living brother Ambrose was still childless. 

Robert returned his gaze to Mary's faltering face and realized he had not say anything. 

"A baby, a baby, what a blessing. Forgive my shock. I am pleased, very pleased by this news," Robert professed honestly grasping her hands in his. Mary beamed at him.

"This is joyous news, madam," he exclaimed to his young wife. Mary embraced him smiling just as widely as he.

"That is pleasing to hear, husband. I am very happy as well." Robert noted the sudden wind, nothing strong, yet he made a suggestion of going inside the castle.

"You should not get a chill, Mary." Robert pressed a kiss on her thin fair brow, before he led her to his apartments. They walked through the corridors with exalted faces. Robert looked over at Mary to glimpse any unseen signs of pregnancy several times. 

_A baby, I am going to be a father of a child._

"What is your news, husband?" Mary asked remembering he had stated he had news to share as well. She settled into a velvet cushioned chair with a questioning look. Robert glanced quickly at his locked box. 

"It is nothing of great importance. We should prepare to announce-" Mary did not appear convinced.

"Humour me, Robert," insisted Mary as she stood up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Robert glanced back at the box containing Elizabeth's letters to him, but decided against mentioning anything. 

He lied easily,

"Just familial news. My brother, Ambrose wishes to visit and some news of my sister Mary's children. You have met my brother in law, Sir Henry Sidney." Mary nodded. She was tender about family relations, having grown amongst her mother's family, the loyal tight knit Guises. 

"Oh, your brother must! I shall request his leave to visit if it is your wish."

Robert exhaled with relief as Mary walked to his desk. She lifted up the blank parchment, which he had intended to use to write a personal coded letter to Elizabeth. "But first, we shall compose an announcement of our happy news to the world." Without a moment of hesitation, Robert joined Mary with their shared euphoria for their unborn child. In a rare moment, the excited emotions of the couple were genuine. 

* * *

**Elizabeth**

Greenwich Palace, May 29th 1565

"Sir William, I would you to write a letter of our renewed interest to meet the Queen of Scots. If Her Grace agrees to meet me, we shall meet in the north as we had planned four years ago." Elizabeth turned sharply at Cecil who looked knowingly at her. "Why should I not wish to meet my fellow queen, my cousin?" Elizabeth look around at the faces of her advisors. Elizabeth was settled in her decision to meet Mary, _to see Robert again_. She had been plagued with indecision and had wondered if Robert had broached the subject to Mary. However, there had been no word from Scotland or Robert. She decided she would have to initiate the plans herself. _I can always change my mind,_ she reasoned when she thought of the potential implications to her Catholic subjects leap to if she met the Catholic Scottish queen.   

"News has arrived from the Scottish court," announced Cecil slowly. He handed over the piece of parchment. Elizabeth took it with curiosity. As she read the contents, she froze at the announcement of Mary's pregnancy. _So soon._  Elizabeth thought of her almost thirty-two years. _I shall never marry_ , _never,_  her young self had decided. 

"The Queen of Scotland is expecting an heir sometime in autumn," informed Cecil. Elizabeth stared at Robert's new title and Queen Mary's with the word child in the same sentence. It had been written almost a month ago. Elizabeth glanced sharply at Sir William who looked unabashed for withholding this news from her. Elizabeth inhaled sharply as she folded the parchment and gave a cursory glance at Robert's coat of arms melded with the Scottish lion of the Stewarts on the wax seal. Her advisors all looked at her awaiting her reaction. 

"Well, should I be pleased I was informed of before the royal babe was born, sir? Is there anything else my lords felt I should not be told?" 

"No, Your Majesty," they replied. 

"Her Grace will not be in any condition to travel such a long distance," remarked Elizabeth as she flung the letter on the table. Mary would have an heir as well as Robert in her keeping. Elizabeth struggled to remove her personal feelings for Robert as she knew she would have never marry him or bear him any children. It stung her raw. Elizabeth had suggested the match, therefore she had no reason to call Mary a she-wolf or whatever words came to her in her jealous rage.

"My lords, I suppose you wish to press me to remove my barrenness and make a marriage for myself," she remarked coldly. Inwardly she fought with the various private emotions she felt and sought to conceal. Only Cecil was brave enough to speak. 

"Aye, my queen. I and my lords present urge you do so. A Protestant heir and of your royal body is needed. Your Majesty has not yet been given assurances that Leicester and Moray have convinced Queen Mary to have her heir be raised Protestant. If I may be frank, Your Majesty, I do not wish to see England return to Catholic tyranny." Elizabeth would have smiled that Cecil still refused to refer to Robert as anything other than Leicester. However, she said nothing and looked down at the red wax seal. _I shall never marry._  There would be a small salve to her lonely rule, a life bereft of Robert's company and aid. A son or a daughter of Robert's would inherit both Mary's throne and Elizabeth's throne. One day uniting the two countries on the same isle. She could trust her Robin to raise his child to be worthy of ruling Elizabeth's beloved England. Elizabeth still selfishly wanted her Robin at her side and she knew he would rather be here too.  

"Your Grace, perhaps a meeting with the Queen of Scots in the summer of next year?" suggested one of her councillors. Elizabeth suddenly felt sick and her head pounded. 

"Return in the afternoon, my lords. I am not feeling well," she ordered sharply and with a wave of her hand. Breathing heavily once she was alone.

 _I pray she dies in childbirth,_ she thought savagely as she sobbed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a review! :)
> 
> I accidentally deleted the first chapter so the comment on it was also deleted! I'm sorry!
> 
> I kind of want the baby to be a girl but it's tempting to have a James Dudley-Stuart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Robert**

  Edinburgh- _June 3rd 1565_

There was no dramatic turning point between them after the announcement of Mary's pregnancy. The news of Mary's pregnancy did not change Robert's feelings for Elizabeth. It did not discount the fact Mary's personality and looks vastly differed from his preference. He wanted to go home, home to Elizabeth's arms.  

However that did not mean friendship or a form of love was an absolute impossibility. Right? 

Robert still loathed living in Scotland, but the preparations for a royal nursery before the birth of his child was a pleasant if only temporary distraction. If he had no fatherly instinct in him, Robert would have resentfully dwelled on the fact that a child tied him and further entrapped him in Scotland. If he hated Mary Stuart and Scotland so much and if Mary also held the same feelings for him, both would have lamented that a divorce would now be impossible to obtain without jeopardizing the legitimacy of their child. 

Elizabeth had written a letter to Robert detailing her joy upon hearing the news and her prayers for a healthy babe, but Robert knew Elizabeth. Reading in-between the lines it was clear while she was sincerely happy for Robert, but Bess had also been hurt by the news.

 _I wanted you, Bess. It should have been you._  

Robert felt torn as he was happy and excited about becoming a father, however he could not help but feel a bit disloyal in feeling so. He was Elizabeth's ÔÔ and he would forever be. His future hinged on the result of this pregnancy.

Robert would be free to return to England if both Queen Mary and their baby were not to survive childbirth. Robin closed his eyes and imagined spurring his horse out of the small Scottish capital. 

_I could go home._

He could return to his beloved Elizabeth. No complications; except for the war of his conscience that a young woman's early death and the loss of a child, his child was the way to return to- He would have to live with that for the rest of his life. 

Robert looked up and hoped _He_ was not listening to his thoughts. Robin had not meant it. His feelings of elation at the prospect said otherwise. 

Never mind the war between the Scots on who would wear the crown if Mary of Scots left this world, childless. The Hamiltons who were next to kin or would the eldest bastard son of James V, the Earl of Moray, seek to be king?

_I don't have a care about them._

But, Robert paused at the thought of the child. He was beginning to want his child more than he wanted to go home. The majority of the Scottish lords would not have their infant-child sovereign taken to England to be raised by its English father, not without a fight. He could not trust that their pro-English stance went so far. He felt certain Elizabeth would support him and send him an army to ensure Robert and the infant king or queen of Scots made it to England. _Elizabeth hates wars_ , his mind reminded him. The certainty of his success in such a power struggle over the child did not feel so certain. Impulsive by nature, he might not wait for the right time to smuggle his child across the border not without the cautiousness of Elizabeth. What if he were in a position that the Scottish lords forced him to abandon his child? Forced to give up his right to be appointed regent?

How could he return home without his baby?

"I cannot," he sighed heavily knowing if he were to become a widower again, the next eighteen years of ruling Scotland for his child would be his priority. Or somehow finding a way to keep his child and return to Elizabeth. 

Robert let out another deep sigh as he rode through the main thoroughfare of Edinburgh. He offered smiles to the people who stopped to look curiously their prince and doffed their cap if they had one. He was surprised by the people of the city who seemed to not mind that their queen had married an Englishman. After all, the last time a Tudor monarch had sent an Englishman nobleman to Scotland, he had led the English army to razed the small town-city to the ground. Twice, a Stewart king died in conflict with Elizabeth's father. Robert could see in their eyes that the Scots remembered this all too well even if they thought him benign without an army of Englishmen.

His role as king consort was not so  _conflicting_.

Robert did his best to prove he was an excellent king consort. He may have been a reluctant husband, but he threw himself into his new duties that Mary allowed him. Mary had been desperate for a consort to support her, but she appeared to prefer counsel from her brother Lord James Stewart, William Maitland, and even Hepburn. 

He was always present to sign with his seal on decisions put before Mary and him. When Mary was too ill due to the pregnancy to attend and sign herself, Robert was there to make ensure there were no delays on the matters of state. 

Unfortunately, Robert was not successful in all of his objectives. He had failed in convincing Mary to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh despite the pressure Elizabeth and her council placed on him to do so. The marriage between him and Mary had not created a settlement between the two countries. Back in March, Elizabeth had refused to name her successor, which ended Mary's policy of conciliation. 

So it was Robert's job to bring Mary back to another round of diplomacy and it also another way to make the best of this marriage of _inconvenience,_ (which he had vehemently resisted) was his only way of making his life in Scotland a bit more bearable. Courting Mary with gifts and poetry was his way of trying to befriend the Scottish queen. He convinced himself that it was necessary for Mary of Scots to like him and it was not disloyal to Bess if he liked Mary as a companion. Mary's trust in him was also necessary for self-preservation. A regnant's hatred and/or distrust of a consort never bode well for a consort. He was a English foreigner and there were Catholic lairds who wished to undermine him at every turn. To his relief, Mary was easily receptive to Robert's offering of amicability between them.  

Tonight, he would get Mary agreeable to Elizabeth's terms. 

* * *

**Mary**

Robert came to Mary's apartments as she played cards with David Riccio and the four Lady Marys. Mary was surprised at his arrival and ended the game with dismissing Riccio and Lady Marys from the room. Once her short Italian secretary exited last with a bow, Mary asked Robert why he had returned so early from Edinburgh. With her ill health due to the advancing pregnancy, Mary rarely went about Edinburgh.

"I thought of you, when I saw this pup." Robert uncovered a small dog from his riding cloak. A little black Skye Terrier puppy. Mary squealed in delight by the darling thing. She automatically reached out to hold it. Robert gently placed the dozing dog in her arms. Mary laughed as Robert kissed her pale neck. He stood behind her seat with his hands on her shoulders.

"Do you like my gift?" Mary stroked the soft fur of the small long haired black dog in her arms. Mary smiled up at Robert.

"I love it," she declared in English. Robert had began to help her improve her poor English as a way to ease her boredom from being unable to do many of the physical activities she enjoyed like riding and archery.

"I'm pleased," he chuckled. Robert took the dog from her arms and set the little pup on the floor. Ever since Mary had announced she was with child, Robert tried to appeared less morose and aloof around Mary. He often came up the private stairwell linking their separate apartments to bid her good morning and shockingly lingered as she dressed. She found it strange for a man even her husband to look at her changing figure. Mary had blushed red as he tried to steal a kiss as he handed her chemise, before being shooed out. True to her unfailingly optimistic personality, she blissfully ignored or never heard the whispers that he had done the same with Elizabeth. Mary enjoyed this happier Robert who wrote her poetry and gave her gifts like the puppy. 

"Are you courting me?" teased Mary as she rose from her seat. Robert smiled at her roguishly.

"Do you object to my attentions, my wife?" Mary laughed lightly and cocked her head in mock serious thought. She pursed her lips and did not answer for a rather long time making Robert begin to squirm. Mary laughed merrily,

"No, I do not think I do." As they embraced, Robert noted there were more than playing cards on the table.

"Is this new?" Robert pointed to the ornate cup of gold.

"Yes, Lord Randolph arrived this morn and my cousin sent it. How generous of Elizabeth." Mary was elated that Elizabeth appeared to be pleased and excited about the child, even if it was Robert's first child with Mary. "She laments that she could not be a part of our joy in person." Mary did not take note of Robert's facial reaction. Nothing could dampen Mary's mood for Mary was on a high. Her Protestant lords were pleased with their Protestant prince consort. Mary herself was happy Robert was apt in helping relieve the burdens of ruling and she was on the cusp of securing the line of succession with a birth of an heir. There was no reason in Mary's mind that Elizabeth would not name Mary her heir to the English throne soon. "She will name me her heir once our baby is born. My sister queen surely will." Mary was so close to having everything she desired. Maybe Elizabeth would deign to meet her in year or two? Robert opened his mouth but paused as if he were choosing his words carefully.

"I fear that particular wish may never be granted," sighed Robert quietly as he set down the glittering cup after inspecting it. Expecting assurances from her English husband, Mary's eyes welled in frustration and hurt that her sister cousin did not love her back. "I do not think she will ever name an heir out of fear that her people will flock to support the person she names." Robert took her hand in his, before continuing, "Some of her councilors do not like the pretensions you and your late husband made of claiming to be Queen of England. Elizabeth was not pleased either."

"My father in law, King Henri made those claims and my uncles told me it was my right to do so," she argued in her defence. In her eyes, she had not done anything wrong. "I do not claim to be the Queen of England. I only wish for my claim as heiress to England be recognized." Robert bit his lip to refrain from retorting about Mary’s less than respectful behaviour in declaring herself the true Queen of England and for believing like many Catholics that Elizabeth was a bastard. 

"My lady, you understood what you were doing," said Robert lightly, "You are a clever woman, albeit you might have been misguided and foolish." He was growing tired of Mary's obsession with the English throne and Elizabeth. Mary straightened and she stepped forward. 

 _"By the Grace of God, Queen of England, France and Ireland?"_  her voice was mocking, _"_ Is she not titled thus? Pray tell me, what foothold of France does Elizabeth rule? My own uncles were a part of the army that fought, defeated, retook Calais. Were you not in service as a soldier in the loss of Calais?" Robert reddened with bruised pride and bit his lip till it almost bled.  

"She must be as misguided and foolish you dare call me." Robert bowed his head, knowing where he had crossed the line.

"Forgive me-" Mary cut him off and snarled haughtily, 

"Did you come here to preach at me? I have John Knox for that. Or has your mistress sent a missive with instructions to accuse me?" 

"No, I have not," Robert sighed with impatience, "Elizabeth is seen as a bastard by Catholics in England, around Europe, and especially in Rome. You must understand that you are seen as a threat by her chief councillors." Mary did not like the ring of truth in Robert's words, for she had tried for years to woo her cousin in naming her heiress presumptive. She chose to focus on something else Robert had said. 

"You were one of those chief councillors, were you not? Do you honestly believe I am a threat to your mistress?" she asked softly with hardened eyes. Mary smiled having caught Robert in an impossible situation. "Did you then believe I was a threat to Elizabeth when I was Queen of France?"

"No, I did not," he replied smoothly. "I in the past told Her Majesty that you were young." 

"How to sweet to know my husband has spoken to my defence," Mary laughed with a kiss to his cheek. She asked curiously, "Did it go over well with Her Majesty?"

Robert coughed, "No. I was berated and she asked me if I was the new French ambassador." Mary smirked and laughed again. 

"Robert, you know my reasons for wanting to be named successor. I won't rule as a figurehead and I mean to rule effectively. I cannot do that if my subjects will not respect my authority and communicate with your mistress and her advisors behind my back." Her hooded eyes gazed at him knowingly. Robert dared not look away.   

Robert chose to broach the long, tired subject of the treaty, "Elizabeth very much wishes for another attempt to reach a settlement, since the Treaty of Edinburgh has not been ratified and all attempts to revise the issues has fallen through. If you do-" Mary groaned and waved a hand dismissively. She needed to lie down. Mary felt her frustrations spill over at the mention of that illegal treaty.

"Why should I do so? I will be denouncing my claim. I married you as she suggested, when I could have had my pick of princes and kings. I could have married an Englishman of royal blood- like- like my cousin, Lord Darnley. She has not treated me in a sisterly manner like she had promised to." 

"Elizabeth wishes to friends with you," he protested.

"It is all words, my lord," she argued with the deepest of resentment. "What have I gained for doing what Elizabeth wants?" she cried dramatically. "I am a queen." 

  _Her former lover._

_I could have strengthened my claim or married for love._

Mary was still conscientious of her husband's lesser bloodline and tainted family name. How could Mary ever forget the fact he was the love of her cousin's and a spy for Elizabeth? She had forgiven the insult made by Elizabeth but had not forgotten it. Mary despised the fact that someone had succeeded in marrying her off. Mary was determined she would no longer listen to Elizabeth's advice. How at times she wished she had refused to marry Robert and married someone else just to spite Elizabeth.

Mary looked at said insult of a husband who met her glare before she turned to walk away to her bedchamber. The little terrier was already sniffing around the doorway. 

"Do you think I was overjoyed to be cast off here?" he snapped harshly. "You are mistaken if you think you are the _one_  had no choice. Once you accepted the offer, I did not have a choice in the matter. Forgive me, if I am tired of hearing you bemoan that you were duped into marrying me." Mary's face coloured. Tears always formed in her eyes when she was angry. 

"Then leave me," she hissed coldly, turning back at him. "No good man of noble blood would dare speak in such a manner to a queen. Leave, _Leicester_." Mary glared furiously with angry tears streaming down her face at Robert who stubbornly did not leave at her order. Mary could not stand to look at him any longer and began to walk past him. "Why do you almost always come to me with a gift or sweet words then immediately drive me to tears? Go away, Leicester." 

_Before you fall in love with him._

"Forgive my outburst," spoke Robert slowly as he followed her. "Mary, Elizabeth does not bear ill intentions to you." His tone was placating as he stopped her before the door, "Yes, you are an undisputed queen regnant. She _may_ in time agree for our child to be her heir. Your flesh and blood will sit upon the thrones of Scotland and  _one day England_ , what more could you desire, Mary?" Robert placed a hand upon her stomach gently. Mary was not pleased with the idea of being passed over in favour of her own son or daughter. She resented Robert's very presence. Mary had been played for a fool by Elizabeth and knowing this made Mary wanted to scream. 

"Yes, I am a queen, thus I should have not done another's bidding. I desire you to leave right now," whispered Mary resentfully, thinking of a conversation with the Earl of Bothwell. She was very cross with both Robert and Elizabeth, but did she want to be rid of him _that badly_? He had not proven to be disastrous, apart from her insulted pride. Robert's face froze, when she wrenched away from his hands held out to her. Perhaps, like one of his wolfhounds, he could sense _something_. He looked angry at her and at himself. 

"Mary, you are not normally so ill humoured," he observed carefully slipping back into the careful courtier. His own anger was visible in the colouring of his cheeks, but his tone was now light and conversational. “Forgive me for bringing up the Treaty of Edinburgh and my harsh words. I see you are resolute in not signing it and-No matter if I support your claim as heir I will not..." 

_Fight for me._

“Thank you for the dog. It was a sweet gesture,” Mary deflected coldly with a false bright smile. Robert blinked. “I should rest _alone_.” Robert still did not leave her alone and followed her into the large bedchamber. Mary was about to declare she wished to pray alone in her prayer niche.

“I am glad you are pleased with it. Shall you give it a name?” Robert asked conversationally. Mary blinked at the question and watched the small black terrier sniff around her bedchamber.

“Armageddon,” she replied stiffly. The reference was explicit causing an uncomfortable silence and tension in the room before Robert finally bowed deeply.  

"I shall leave Your Grace and Armageddon then." Mary did not dare look at him, preferring to glower at the tapestries on the wall. The Lady Mary Beaton entered first from the outer chamber after Robert had left. The other Marys looked at her tearstained face and at Armageddon yapping at their skirts. 

"Your Grace?" 

"He is more of a Bash," laughed Mary wiping her face.

* * *

**Mary**

Falkland Palace - _July 19_ _1565_

All was forgotten and forgiven by the time Robert's elder brother, Ambrose Dudley arrived in Scotland late in June. Ambrose arrived with his future father-in-law, Francis Russell, the Earl of Bedford. Ambrose and the Earl's daughter Anne were set to wed in November. Amongst them was the Earl of Lennox who had came to Scotland to settle some matter. 

Mary was curious about elder brother of Robert's. Ambrose and Robert Dudley were not of similar personalities and Ambrose was not as handsome as his younger brother. Ambrose appeared to be a more quieter nature. Yet, Mary observed the two brothers were greatly fond of each other and were inseparable from the moment Ambrose arrived. Both had keenly missed each other's company. She smiled at them sadly, as the brothers reminded her of her sisterly love for Elisabeth de Valois. Despite Ambrose's poor health and the colder climate of Scotland, it would make life more bearable for Robert to have his beloved brother by his side, however it was not be. 

One of the main events she and Robert had planned for their English guests was a hunt. The hunt took place on her husband's thirty-third birthday. Mary greatly disliked not being able to enjoy any athletic pursuits. She wished she did not have to miss out on the thrill of the hunt. Mary felt captive by the restrictions of being with child, which left her a spectator of the dancing in the Great Hall. Her need to be outdoors for the good of her health was only satisfied by strolls in the gardens, or long walks accompanied by her ladies and guards.

Today, Mary was accompanied by Riccio and Lady Mary Seton on a long walk, as she awaited the return of the hunting party. They had played cards and listened to music earlier. Mary was wondering what was taking the hunting party so long, when a man's voice called to her. 

"My Queen," greeted James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell. A pleasant smile came to her fair face as he bowed deeply before her. "Forgive me, I have not personally voiced my congratulations."

"Thank you, my lord." Mary rubbed her stomach fondly. According to her estimate, she was nearing five months pregnant.

"Your Grace, may I speak with you?" Mary nodded and she had Lady Seton and David walk behind them out of earshot.

"You have been missed here at court. How is your lady wife? Is she unwell? Is that why you have been away for so long?" Bothwell's mouth twitched with a small smile.

"My lady Jean is well, Your Grace. I am afraid, I felt my presence here at court was unwelcome." Mary frowned in surprise but in reality she wasn't.

"I have no quarrel with you, my lord." 

"Thank you, Your Grace." He doffed his velvet cap to her. "I came at once at your behest." 

"Do the Hamiltons still speak blasphemous words?" The words had reached Mary's ears recently. Mary was annoyed and baffled by the gossip about her and her musician, David Riccio. They suddenly took issue with Mary's marriage to Dudley and claimed Mary held an illicit affair with her unattractive Italian servant. Robert did not believe the gossip, knowing Mary held no attraction for Riccio. 

Bothwell nodded.

"Oh never mind the Hamiltons at the present. I have heard uglier words whispered, my queen," reported Bothwell. "Many will take issue with the thought of an heir raised a Catholic. You have heard of Knox's preaching about the Catholic League." Mary exhaled in frustration at the mention of John Knox. 

"My child will be raised in the faith I, the mother, the Queen of Scotland chooses. I have no part in such a league. I care not what faith my people keep so long as there is peace and tolerance." Knox was a thorn in Mary's side, ever since the moment she had landed on her native shores. 

"My queen, I am afraid there might not be any peace. I have heard treacherous words said at court and in the halls of some of the lords." Mary did not feel concerned by Bothwell's warnings. 

["Our countrymen are well-wordy."* (Antonia Fraser, p. 308)](https://www.amazon.ca/Mary-Queen-Scots-Antonia-Fraser/dp/1780229267/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1503972045&sr=8-1&keywords=mary+queen+of+scots)

Bothwell pressed roughly, "It concerns your royal person and your unborn child, my queen." At that, Mary paused and let him continue, "Forgive me, Your Grace. It pains me to tell you this. His Grace is said to be at center of such plots, should Your Majesty deliver a son. I fear for Scotland's freedom of as an independent realm. My lord Robert and your brother's Pro-English policies trouble me."

"My brother, the Earl, and my husband, the prince both believe the policies benefit my rule. My royal father and grandfather both died in conflict with the English. Good relations with my English cousin is important to the security of Scotland." 

"Forgive me, my queen. I came to offer my protection. I served Your Grace's mother loyally and I serve you and Scotland with the same devotion. His Grace is only concerned with protecting and serving his lover, the Queen of England and the interests of England. Your Grace knows of my plain feelings about the alliance with the English." Mary felt a tug at her heart at his mention of her mother. Mother trusted him. Bothwell knelt before her and impudently touched her arm,

"I fear Your Grace is being used as a pawn for their ambitions. I warn you that the Englishman will be the ruination of your rule. I swore to your late mother that I would do anything in my power to prevent the English subjugating your person and the realm." 

Mary looked up at the sound of the hunting party's return. She looked back at the kneeling Bothwell who gazed at her with a face of seemingly concern on his rough round face. Her immediate thoughts turned to the lurid mystery of Robert's first wife's death. Amy Robsart had been found dead at the bottom of a stairwell. Robert had been the most unwilling groom. It was not unknown that Robert was homesick for England and Elizabeth. Was he desperate enough to want her dead so he may return to Elizabeth? Mary did not want to believe in such treachery and stepped away from Bothwell. Yet a part of her wanted to keep Bothwell near her. For if James Hepburn were true, who else would she turned to?

_Robert is not my sweet Francis._

"Those are weighty accusations, my lord Bothwell," Mary remarked evenly as she watched her dark haired English husband with a large grin on his swarthy face, ride ahead on his white stallion. Her feelings of envy that she had not been a part of the hunt were long forgotten. She hissed lowly at Bothwell, "Unless you have evidence, I warn you to not speak ill of my husband." She looked down at Bothwell with a serious yet kindly face.  

"Aye, my queen," he said gruffly as Mary strode away. She beamed with a smile as a groomsman came to lead Robert's horse back to the stables. 

She asked, "Was the hunt a success?" Robert nodded breathlessly and kissed her lightly in greeting.  

"The stag gave us a dramatic chase." He looked past her and frowned at the sight of James Hepburn. Robert wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close to him. Moray who had strode over and looked disapprovingly at the retreating back of Bothwell. Robert and Moray exchanged a wordless look that did not go unnoticed by Mary. 

"I had not known the Earl of Bothwell had returned to court," commented Moray quietly.  

"I recalled him to court a few days ago," Mary answered honestly. 

"What did he speak to you of?" questioned Robert a bit brusquely.   

"Nothing of importance, husband. Where is my lord Warwick, your brother?" she inquired as she strode away in direction of returning hunting party. Mary listened to the elder Dudley regale her a story of a hunt he and Robert had partaken as young lads. She turned and caught Robert's eye as he ended his conversation with her brother. 

"Was this hunt before the reign of the late Queen Mary?" she asked her brother in law innocently. 

"During the twilight of King Henry's reign," answered Ambrose Dudley with confusion at her question and his face betrayed discomfort at the mention of Mary Tudor. 

"Of course," she smiled with a lilting laugh which caught the attention of the men. Robert Dudley had failed in his task of capturing Mary Tudor. Mary touched her forearm where Bothwell had held a little too roughly than she was used to and thought of his warnings of treachery against her. 

* * *

Robert and Mary lounged under an elaborate canopy in the late night. Laughter and music filled the pavilion built for the festivities in honour of the English nobility. Mary was dressed in a square cut neckline gown of dark crimson satin. Mary was in a happy mood and felt energetic even at the lateness of hour. The plagues of pregnancy were not troubling her today. However, it was Robert who watched the dancers and musicians with a pensive look. Mary was clapping at the end of the dance, when she noticed Robert's sombre face. She brushed his dark curls.

"Robert, you are unwell?" Mary asked tenderly. Robert smiled quickly, but his eyes were still forlorn.

"It is nothing, my wife." Mary guessed he missed England, and especially Elizabeth even more so with his brother Ambrose and the other English nobles visiting. She understood that feeling in a somewhat similar capacity. Robert did not have his kin or many friends from his life in England with him in Scotland.

"I greatly missed France and my family there in my first years here. It was everything that I had known." Mary recalled staring at the land that France for as long as she could, before it was out of her sight forever. He smiled sadly looking at his cup but brightened a bit,

"There is much to look forward to, Ambrose will wed the Russell heiress by the end of the year and I shall become a father in the autumn. I will be able to show off our son or daughter, when he visits again." Mary nodded.

"Are you miserable here?" she could not help to ask even though it was apparent the answer was yes. Ambrose appeared to have heard her question over the din for he shot his brother a meaningful look. Robert glared at the back of Sir Christopher Hatton. 

"Mary, give me time," Robert answered all too honestly as he clasped his hand in hers. Mary's smile faltered as she straightened his white ruffed collar. He must have noticed for his deep voice softly asked, "Do you doubt my concern and care for you?" Bothwell's words of warning rang in her mind, but Robert was honest and attentive to her. He dutifully shared the burdens of ruling Scotland with her. At her pause to answer him, "If I seem unhappy, it has nothing to do with you, my Mary." Mary beamed eagerly that Robert was pleased by her at the very least. Mary observed the Earl of Warwick converse with Maitland and Moray,

"I noticed that your brother is very different from you." 

"Do you mean that I am the younger and more handsome Dudley," he laughed quietly. In a more serious tone, he said, "I love my brother. No one knows me quite as well as Ambrose does."

"Not even Elizabeth?" Robert's mood changed at the mention of her name. He shook his head slowly. Mary regarded him.

"Perhaps, I shall learn more about you through your brother. Everyone seems to know you best except I." 

"What do you wish to know?"  _What are your true feelings about me? Did you order or wish for your late wife's death? How far would you go to protect Elizabeth's interests?_ Mary was well aware Robert was an informant for the English and Elizabeth. Bothwell's words had sunk in and she began to question if she was merely a pawn to Robert and Elizabeth. 

Instead she asked, "I was wondering earlier today about names for our baby. What would you suggest we name our child?" Robert's blue eyes twinkled at the mention of the babe and his hand reached over to caress the swell of her stomach. 

"I wish to have a son who will share my name, but I sense you wish to name our firstborn son after your father." Mary kissed his cheek.

"I do, but I hope if God grants us a son that he will share your look." He had the most beautiful eyes and was unfairly handsome even after hours of horseback. Robert chuckled.

"A daughter with your beauty-" he complimented with gallantry and honesty as he admired her fair face. She gave a half smile and added,

"And your eyes-" They were a spectacular shade of blue. 

"You flatter me," Robert laughed. Mary laughed and stared down at her rounded stomach as she had a thought.

"If we have a daughter, I have thought of naming her after Elizabeth _and_ Elisabeth of course. Would she be pleased if I honoured her by naming a daughter after her? Or would she be offended?" Robert paused and waved for more wine. Robert did not look her in the eye as he answered,

"Her Majesty would be honoured." Mary rubbed her stomach lovingly. Robert gripped her arm gently. Mary looked up and saw the Earl of Lennox approach them with the tallest young man she had ever seen. Taller than herself by two or more inches.  _So beautiful as well._ Mary had not really taken notice of fair Henry until now despite having met some time ago in France. 

"Your Graces," addressed the Earl of Lennox. 

"My lord, I heard you enjoyed the stag hunt." The handsome youth bowed and grinned boastfully. 

"Not at all comparable as the enjoyment of beholding your great beauty, my queen," simpered Darnley with a smile. Mary beamed at the flattery, whilst Robert coughed on his wine. 

"My lord cousin," she giggled. "You flatter me." Robert's blue eyes flashed a look of disbelief at Mary. 

* * *

  **Mary**

Wemyss Castle, Fife **-** _July 24 1565_

Mary laughed easily at the young lad before her. Henry Stuart gazed at her in a way that reminded her of Francis always looked at her. His presence unleashed her memories of her happy years in France with Francis, Elisabeth and Claude. She ached for the adoration and attentiveness. The unquestioned love she and Francis had shared. Francis had looked at her adoringly as if she was the rising sun. Young Henry Stuart was so charming, so gallant, and he too loved poetry. He was taller than Mary, which was a rare feat and had such a youthful beauty.

Mary recklessly stared at him with blatant lust. He was so beautiful to look at and he had a claim to the English throne. If Mary was not married and with child, she would have thought of having Henry for a husband instead of the moody inferior Robert. Mary felt a tiny bit of guilt for even thinking such traitorous thoughts, especially since Robert was ill according to her own physician.

However, she would enjoy this adoration for as long as she could and she would request for Darnley to remain a little longer at her court before returning back to England.

"Your Grace," interrupted her husband's page. Mary snuck another glance at Henry, before she asked what the youth dressed in livery came to say. 

"His Grace is unable to attend the masque, my queen.” 

“Oh, what has the physician said about the cause of the king's illness?”

“The physician believes His Grace has taken ill from a state of melancholy likely caused by an ailment in the king’s stomach." Mary frowned. She was aware about her husband's sudden reclusion in his apartments. It had been four days now. Mary loathed breaking an engagement, but she was bewildered and felt rather concerned about Robert. She decided she would excuse herself from attending the masque and attend to Robert at his bedside. Mary felt some disappointment to not go the masque planned. She felt oddly pleased when she spoke of her change of plans that Lord Henry tried to implore her to attend the masque with such intensity. Darnley's fair face was filled with disappointment and sulkiness as he bowed to her on her way out of the hall.

When she entered Robert’s bedchamber, Ambrose Dudley appeared to be leaving Robert’s apartments.

“Your Grace,” he bowed in surprise.

“I have said you must call me sister or Mary, my lord,” she smiled kindly. Ambrose dipped his head.“I was told Robert is still unwell.” Ambrose nodded and allowed Mary to pass through the threshold before exiting himself.

Mary found Robert reposed in an dramatic manner. His eyes widened, when Mary drew back the curtain of his bed. He appeared to have made an attempt to dress or someone had tried to encourage him to do so. A fine slashed leather jerkin was laid out. Robert wore only his hose and a linen chemise under an undone red doublet.

“Mary,” he gaped. “I thought you were attending the masque.”

“I decided to slip away,” she explained. "I heard you are still ill." He gave a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I’m afraid I will be poor company,” he warned with little warmth.

“Why are you so melancholic?” she asked as she sat on the small space Robert left open on the side of the bed. Robert looked away from her eyes. Mary “Is it the quarrel you had with Sir Christopher Hatton?” His face darkened at the mention of the English courtier’s name.

“How did you learn of that?” Robert asked almost tentatively and he flinched at her gentle touch.

“I overheard you and Sir Hatton, well, some of it.” Robert’s head snapped up in alarm. His tanned complexion was almost pallid. “You both were speaking English and my ladies and I were quite a distance away. I could only manage to understand a few words,” she explained. Mary frowned as she recalled it, “I think I absolutely understood what transpired between Sir Hatton and yourself.” Robert frowned and sat up. He looked rather worried like he had been trapped alone with a lioness, albeit a seemingly content one.

“Mary,” he began contritely but in self-defence. “You were not supposed to hear that. Let me explain—“

“You have nothing to worry or be jealous about,” she exclaimed with a reassuring grin. 

Robert looked at her puzzled, “How could you possibly know that?” Mary sighed with exasperation and slight indignation. Robert did not believe that she had no interest in Sir Christopher Hatton or Bothwell who Robert disliked or any other noble. 

“Do you truly question my honour?” she asked sharply. Robert blinked at her harsh tone and by her question. “It is not my fault if men take my courtesies to mean more. Hatton may be in love with me but I am not. I hardly know the man and he is a mere knight, quite a humorless one at that. He was so easily offended by Bastian’s masques. I thought they were quite clever. Oh, Robert, you have no need to torment yourself to illness.”

The poor man was stunned to silence. His dark brows furrowed and his mouth gaped speechlessly. Mary expected him to look relieved by her admission. Perhaps, her half-sister Jean was right, she had also insulted Robert’s manhood by refusing to lie with him when she was feeling ill or tired. Robert muttered under his breath, before cupping her face in his hands.

“I do not question your honour, Mary,” he murmured quietly with a faint smile of relief. His look of relief was short-lived replaced with anguish.

“Then why have you withdrawn yourself from the world then?” Mary wondered as she placed her elegant hand on his cheek as well. Robert was pained by the question and could not look her in the eye. 

“I- I am jealous of him." Mary stiffened, wondering if he had noticed her blatant flirtation with Darnley over the other English noblemen. " _Hatton-_ " He spat the name viciously, "He made my _lady_ laugh and smile, it causes me grief and vexation,” he trailed off as he stared up at the golden canopy of the bed. Mary removed her hand from his face and clenched it into a fist. She wanted to slap him. Hatton had not made her laugh and smile anymore than any other nobleman, Scottish or English. In her jealousy, she conveniently forgotten about her smiles at young Henry Stuart. Robert had forgotten Mary's presence and had not see her embarrassed and indignant face.  

"You should return for the masque." Robert rolled onto his side. Mary stood up from the bed, reeling with his omission. He publicly had shamed her by his pining for-. She deserved better than this. 

"It is my job to smile at my subjects and to my guests. Your duty as my husband is to host court at my side, especially when the guests are your countrymen."

"I am sure that long legged lad, Darnley, would love to fill my place." Mary went red in the face. So he had noticed and yet he did not care, judging by his flat bored tone. She might have thought otherwise if his back were not turned from her. Mary would have saw that he was doubly aggravated with jealously and hurt. She stormed out of his chamber with the parting words,

"Perhaps, I would prefer it too."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally forgot that birthdays were not a huge thing in Tudor/Elizabethan times after I had written about Robert's birthday festivities. So Ambrose came to visit rather hastily and so did some others... 
> 
>  
> 
> leave a review! xo.


	5. Chapter 5

**Robert**

Edinburgh Castle **-** _October 31 1565_

Half a day had past since he was informed Mary had gone into labour, Robert paced around his chamber as his dogs watched from their relaxed repose by the fireplace. His mind whirled at a faster pace than his footsteps. Thoughts on what the sex of the child was, was not foremost on the father-to-be's thoughts.

During the summer, it had occurred to him to think of his future if Mary should die in childbirth. Robin had figured he could manage a way to try to convince Elizabeth that a marriage with him would be best with him as the father of the infant Scottish king or queen. His exuberance at the prospect, he could court Elizabeth as a near equal of rank and gift her with a royal step-child and its' realm. 

Elizabeth had a brillance, perhaps, Robin wondered if this was the conclusion she envisioned when she first put Robert forward as a candidate for the Queen of Scots' hand. He had been tempted to ask Elizabeth in a coded letter if she marry him should become a widower again. 

But now with the Queen of Scots in labour, the thought of her death did not sit well with him anymore and he tried in vain to not dwell on the confusing feeling.

His confusing feelings and anxiety gnawed at him, knowing his wife was experiencing great difficulty. It would be his fault if she died because he was not in love with her.

Robert stared at the flickering flames and barked a laugh. The large dogs' head rose at the sound of his voice.

"Damn you, woman. Only you would make a man wish for a tragic event to happen in order to be forever at your service. To bask in your sunshine and even your storms." He rubbed his face in resentful anger and self-disgust. Robert glanced over his shoulder to his faithful companion.

"I don't hope for them to not live, Dog." Dog looked up at him and then lowered its head to rest it on the rug. "I mean it." The hound did not acknowledge his master.

A voice laughed at him, causing him to shiver. 

_My lord, even the beast knows Robert Dudley won't grieve the death of the Scottish queen and her child._

A horrible image appeared in his mind. Mary with her exquisite long oval face immobile and her deep set eyes open but unseeing. A dead infant lying on Mary's chest. There was blood on the baby as if it had just been delivered. Robert shook his head violently and gripped the mantle. 

_Isn't that what you have been hoping for, my devoted husband?_

_Another wife out of the way so you are free to be with that bastard of a whore._

_You can't leave her behind in a country manor, can you my lord?_

"What do you know of how I feel? Of what I want," Robert growled as he hit his fist against the stone mantle with such force that he almost caused an injury. The voice no longer had an edge of bitter mockery. It was calmer now. But he was further disquieted by the sweet, yet piteously hopeful tone in which it asked, 

_What is it you feel then, Rob?_

He jerked away from the fireplace. Unclenching and clenching his stinging hand as he sat upon the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes and began to cry and curse.

"I hope the news of my child's birth brings Bess pain and jealousy. No, every child, I sire on her pretty cousin." He wept bitterly, "Damn Bess, for loving me in the cruelest way by letting me go. Oh, I'll be her pet dog and eyes and make sure Mary's ambitions don't become a real threat. That's all I ever be to her now, her informant." Dog came over and rubbed his head on Robert's knees, looking for a rub and scratch or perhaps to comfort his master. He sat like that for a long time until the tears dried. His tone was determined when he spoke aloud to his hound,

"I am going to be a father, Dog. I will be _happy_." 

* * *

**Mary**

Edinburgh Castle **-** _Morning of November 1st 1565_

The loud cracks of fireworks continued go off in celebration of the birth of James Dudley-Stuart, the heir of Scotland. Five hundred bonfires were lit all throughout the city of Edinburgh in jubilation of birth of the prince. Queen Mary of Scots' first child had came into the world on the early hours of November 1st 1565 at Edinburgh Castle. It had been a long few days of the end of October for Mary. Mary had moved her court from Holyrood Palace to Edinburgh Castle preparing it for her lying in for the last and final month of her pregnancy. Throughout the later half of her pregnancy, Mary had refused to grant Robert the crown matrimonial, which would have made Robert, king of her realm should she and the baby both die. She could not fathom it, despite the overwhelming advice to do so. Instead, Mary wrote out a will incase she would not survive childbirth. She set out detailed bequests of her personal jewels and property to various family members, loyal servants, and to her child.

Weeks before James' birth, false rumours had circulated that Queen Mary had lost the baby or she had already given birth, which led to confusion by false alarm and premature rejoicing on the royal birth.

It was the 30th of October, when the first actual birthing pains came. It was the most awful and agonizing fourteen hours of her young almost twenty-two year life. Mary had cried throughout the long arduous and painful labor. She loudly lamented several times,

"I wish I never married!" 

It was all Robert's fault ~~and Elizabeth's~~ for her present agony. She could envision Robert's glee at her death. He would be free from her and to return with Mary's baby to the bastard who sat on the English throne. Lady Mary Fleming and Lady Mary Seton wiped her face of its sweat and tears, whilst Lady Mary Beaton held her hand. All her female attendants murmured words of encouragement and prayers for the babe to come swift and hale. Mary Fleming's sister, the Countess of Atholl had tried to cast their queen's pains of childbirth onto another woman who was in labour by ways of witchcraft. It all came to naught for the young queen felt like her body was being ripped apart. Mary began to wonder if the babe would ever come or if the pain alone would kill her. 

Mary let out a scream as she gave the final push and laid back her head in utter exhaustion. Breathing heavily with her eyes upward, she heard the loud cry of her newborn baby seconds later. The fatigue and pain of her ordeal was almost forgotten for that brief moment, when the midwife announced she had birthed a healthy son. Mary smiled as her attendants let her have a glimpse of her petit prince before both she and babe were cleaned. She murmured a prayer of thanks with a triumphant smile. 

"A son. I have a son." 

Lady Mary Seton with her talent at hairdressing fixed Mary's hair. She rubbed floral water into the red-gold hair tresses, which had been disarrayed and damp with sweat from the hours of labour. Her ladies, including her half-sister Lady Jean and the four Marys all fussed over her as they removed her bloodied linen shift and sheets for fresh ones, congratulating Mary on the birth of her son. Mary half-delirious with relief and tiredness had burst into emotional tears as her little prince was brought to her bundled in fresh linen after he had been fed from his wet-nurse.

"My baby James. Mon petit prince," she cooed to the red-faced newborn in her arms. Mary lightly kissed her son's forehead. Hers and hers alone. The infant boy had a dusting of dark brown hairs like his father. Mary smiled as she thought about her envisioned golden future for her son. So enraptured by his small fists to his nose and ears, Mary could not bring herself to break her gaze from her perfect baby. She barely registered Robert's presence. Mary jolted a little when she heard his deep voice. Beaming, she whispered proudly,

"We have a son."

Her voice was still hoarse from hours of crying and screaming in child birthing pains. Robert's arm wrapped around her loosely and he stiffly leant down to press a kiss on her crown of auburn hair. Robert's hand carefully brushed their baby's forehead. Mary looked up at Robert at last. He looked handsome as ever in a dark blue doublet with gold trimmings. She noticed there was tenseness in his muscles as if he had been pacing around for many hours. His bright blue eyes were fixated on their son in utter awe and he looked choked up with emotion. It was clear that the baby was already loved by Robert. She had some doubts still in her mind that she, Mary would ever be of great importance to him now that James was born…

"He is perfect." Mary could not help but to smile at the softness of Robert's reverential tone. "May I hold him?"

"Your son," Mary whispered hoarsely, as she gently placed the bundled James in his father's eager arms.

"Hello, my boy." Robert smiled lovingly at their infant. 

"He shall be named James Charles. For my father, and for my ancestor Charlemagne," explained Mary with a cough as she stared at her child in his father's arms. She added, "He looks like you." Mary pondered whether it was such a terrible thing if her newborn child had none of her beauty. Mary looked up and realized Robert was gazing at her, not James. She coloured slightly with pleasure and smiled at him. Robert gave a nod and disappointingly spoke in a formal tone,

"He is a healthy looking little lad." Mary nodded in agreement. "May our James leave behind such a legacy." Robert looked back at the baby with a loving smile and placed him back in Mary's arms. She thought he was going to leave, but to her surprise Robert sat on the bed next to her and continued to gaze at little James with adoration a little while longer. 

* * *

Mary had Prince James and his wet-nurse stay in her chambers for the first days and nights of James' life. On the first night, Mary did not sleep much as she woke at every little noise he made. She crept out of her bed to watch her son sleep in his cradle for hours, even when her body yearned for proper rest. Mary adored every small child she came into contact with from her little Guise cousins, her young wards, her godchildren, her young nieces, and nephews of her Stewart half-siblings. Not a day old yet, and her love for her own baby was immense. She choked back tears as she peered down at James sleeping.

After an hour or more of her watchful vigil, she began to think about her own parents. How her father, King James had sadly never laid eyes upon her or even held her, his only living legitimate child unlike how Robert had held little James hours earlier. Robert appeared to be very pleased about James' birth. He was so emotional with smiles and even a tear of joy. It gave her a pang of envy. Robert's outbursts of love to their infant was in sharp contrast to what was said of her own father's reaction to her birth.

_James is a son. Would have Robert expressed less exuberantly at the birth of a daughter instead?_

Her sex had been a crushing disappointment to her own father. 

_He died disappointed in me. I was the final blow of crushing disappointments. The news of my sex finished Papa._

Mary might not have been queen if her father, James V, had not died and if her parents had a son, a brother who lived to take her place. But Papa died and  _left_ her with the crown of Scotland. Many people, like Knox, implied her father believed the Stewarts would end with her and had died saying,

_" it came wi a lass, it'll gang wi a lass." _

"Is that true, Papa? Did you really have no hope for me?" she whispered aloud. 

Those words never haunted Mary more since she returned to Scotland, a land she barely remembered and was a stranger to.  

More important to her, Mary wished to be a queen her beloved mother would have been proud of. She thought of Mother having to say goodbye to twice her and having to leave her half-brother (then a small boy of 3) behind upon her marriage to Mary's father. Mary trembled as she thought of the pain her mother must have felt. She had lost her father, her mother, her darling Francis, her crown as Queen of France, and the very thought of possibly losing her child in any way cut the deepest. 

"I won't ever leave you. I promise I will not." 

Her mind was muddled as the hours went by without sleep. Mary briefly thought about her days in the royal nursery with the Valois children.

"You will be as legendary as King Arthur, mon petit prince," breathed Mary. 

Throughout the day and evening of November the first, Robert dodged out of the celebratory revelry to see their son. So, she was not entirely surprised, when her guard informed her of Robert's late night visit to her chambers. Once in her bedchamber, Robert greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Is he well?" asked Robert with a look of worry as he stood over the golden cradle next to Mary.

"Yes," she answered quietly. He looked at her questioningly and asked why she was not resting in her bed. "I couldn't sleep." He nodded and they quietly watched James for several minutes.

"I have never seen a more handsome babe," he remarked proudly. "And I have seen many." Mary laughed quietly in amusement. 

"And if we have more?" Robert glanced at Mary then looked away.

"They will all be the most fair children," boasted Robert leaning down to kiss the sleeping boy's nose. He leaned against her and dramatically gestured at James. "You know it shall be true. Look at him." She agreed with him, his arrogance matching her own narcissistic vanity in this instance. Mary curiously tensed as his larger hand covered her hand that rested on the edge of the cradle. Giving it a squeeze, his voice grew lower and more serious,

"I was quite worried, I was told you were experiencing great difficulty. After I don't know, the tenth hour, I-" Robert looked at her earnestly, "I prayed that the babe- you _both_ would not-" He looked down at their hands as his voice trailed off. Mary smiled at him softly. Little James made a little noise and both of his parents looked at him with the alarm of new parents. Robert continued to speak after they realized there was nothing to fret about, "I am very relieved and pleased you both are alive and well." Her smile grew. 

He leaned his forehead against hers and his blue eyes locked with her hazel. 

"I should bid you good night, my lady." Yet he did not give her his perfunctory kiss goodnight and leave to go to his own chambers. 

Mary felt they were dancing around as actors in a play and they both knew this was supposed to be a real, tender moment if they were a man and wife who loved one another. Robert kissed her at first tentatively as if he were shy and uncertain. She a far more committed actress, kissed him back, not caring if the wet-nurse woke and saw them. Mary wrapped her arms around his neck as their kiss grew a bit more intense. His hands moved to her hair and the sides of her face. To her surprise, the kiss felt somehow different to Mary. It began awkwardly turning more intimate but it was not a kiss of lust. They had their share of awkward kisses between two strangers, obligatory pecks on the lips and cheeks, and the exhilarating kisses caused by a mix of drink and carnal desire. She was too tired and sore from giving birth to think of _that_ and convention would not allow such physical intimacy so soon after birth. In Mary's weary romantic mind, the kiss conveyed something only poetry could describe. 

They had detached from each other's embrace quickly, when the kiss did end. Robert stole a glance and awkwardly cleared his throat as they returned to their vigil over their sleeping infant. Still Robert did not leave as she expected him to. Mary reeled in confusion. She was not supposed to even like this man. It was an arranged marriage to a common noble with traitor's blood. Mary never expected or dreamed to fall in love with a man like the Earl of Leicester. Mary couldn't possibly ever fall in love with the bastard Queen Elizabeth's discarded lover. She had even laughed at the idea. Before the marriage offer had been presented to her, Mary had been scandalized by the scandalous rumours of Elizabeth and Robert. She resented herself for wanting Robert to love her. 

Mary kept her eyes on James and the tapestried walls, anywhere but the handsome man beside her. Her voice sounded shaky as she asked him a question.

"What was that, Mary?" Mary closed her eyes and exhaled a breath.

"My lord, do you truly mean those sentiments?" Mary whispered a little louder. "Every word? That you prayed I would not die?" She braved a full look at Robert. His dark brows furrowed and he quietly swore he truly meant every word. A strange amount of emotion came out and Mary hugged him hard that it kind of hurt. She let out a sob that was muffled against his shoulder. She was so weary. Not just physically, but unknowingly exhausted about being baffled by her Scottish lords' character. Of trying her hardest to adapt to the politics of her country that she had not been trained to understand. Tired of not knowing whether to trust Robert or not trust Robert. The man she was growing to lean upon and rely upon to share the burdens of ruling Scotland. 

"I couldn't wish you ill," he admitted slowly with eyes lowered. 

She now wanted to be believe that James Hepburn was wrong about Robert's motives. Bothwell and some of the lords were of mind that Robert wished and prayed for her death in childbirth. 

Who to believe and trust more? The man who served loyally her beloved mother the Queen Regent and now her or the man who was her husband and the father of her heir? Robert was the obvious one to distrust as Robert was seen as an opportunistic, ambitious man who everyone believed had a hand in his own wife's mysterious death. He was the son and grandson of attainted and executed traitors. The Earl of Bothwell had a rough manner but his loyalty was to her. It was known by all, Robert was loyal to Elizabeth first and foremost. 

Naively or not, Mary chose to cling to Robert's words. Were not Robert's words, actions, and this kiss evidence to the contrary? Both she and James were fiercely important to Robert and that satisfied her heart. He was not her Francis who adored her. But it was a start to her desire to try to recreate some semblance of her family she had grown up with in France. She had her half-sister Jean and half brother Moray and her other half-siblings. Her Guise family did everything in their power to help her. Robert was family now to her, wasn't he? She now had the family she had assumed she would have had with Francis, which was not in God's will.

Mary could not fathom the idea of being treated and deposed of like poor Lady Amy had been. Mary was an anointed queen regnant after all who had never experienced such a personal betrayal. And, Robert vehemently protested of his innocence in the mysterious tragedy when Mary asked him about it. During the marriage negotiations, Elizabeth had written and explicitly stated that her judgement of character would have not allowed Robert in her inner circle if the gossip were true. Elizabeth had insisted Robert was the best and Mary did not wish to believe her own kinswoman, her sister queen, her cousin would ever take a part of a betrayal to her. 

"We are a family," breathed Mary softly, overwhelmed by everything. Robert was not as physically exhausted as she was but he appeared to be just as overwhelmed as she. 

* * *

**Elizabeth**

Palace of Greenwich, England **-** _the Late Evening of November 1st 1565_

Elizabeth was hosting a splendid ball for her court. She had just sat down after a round of dances to drink a cup of sweet-spiced wine. She was in high spirits, full of smiles and laughter as she surveyed the merry revelry of the ball all around her. Elizabeth had not been thinking of what Robert would say or do to make her worries go away if he were present. She had not thought of the dances they would have danced together. At least they weren't in the forefront of her mind for once in over a year. Her deep grief for Kat's sudden death during the summer had almost healed. She dearly missed the woman who had been a mother and loyal friend to her. Tonight, she was at peace with her losses. 

Her contentment was brief with the arrival of Sir James Melville bearing an announcement from Scotland. He came bearing the news that Queen Mary of Scots had birthed a son. The messenger relayed that both the Queen of Scotland and her son had survived the uncertain labours of childbirth. Her happy mood was somewhat dissipated as the news sunk in. 

"The Queen of Scots has birthed a son today and I am but barren stock," cried out Elizabeth as the smile on her fair face twisted in pain. Melville looked uncomfortable and there was even pity? and pleasure? in his eyes. If she had not been seated already she would staggered at the pain the news brought her. 

It was too much effort to try to plaster a smile and to pretend she was not feeling the pressure to have a child herself. She could not disguise her pain and jealously that the only man she would ever love had been made a father by her cousin. Elizabeth who hid her true emotions and feelings could not hide her feelings of agony. She had the self-control to keep any bittersweet tears from exposing her. Elizabeth had lost the man she truly loved, when she married him off to Mary of Scots and everyday she keenly felt the loss of him always nearby her. He had always been near her for she could not stand him to be away from her. It was maddening how much she needed him and how much they needed each other. If she had taken any political triumph from her ruthless demands in controlling the choice of husband of Queen Mary it had been at a greater personal cost. She recalled the tearstained face of her Robin arguing against the marriage with Mary and declaring how much he loved only her, Elizabeth. Her own face had been crumpled with tears as they had kissed farewell. 

She could feel Cecil's grey eyes watching her. Elizabeth looked away from the miserable messenger and glanced at the dancing couples. One of her maid of honours, a young Boleyn cousin of hers, the sixteen-year old red haired Lady Elizabeth Knollys was dancing with one of the young male courtiers. Elizabeth blinked and for a moment saw Robert and herself dancing. Elizabeth looked away breathing heavily.

_A son._

She could picture his paternal joy so vividly. How dare he be happy when she was lonely without him. Elizabeth glanced around at Cecil and the men who urged her to marry someone and others who even hoped for their own suit as her prospective husband. Even her loyal Cecil could not bear the idea of Robin as Elizabeth's personal choice.

_'The Queen of Scots has borne an heir.'_

Her young Scottish cousin Mary had fulfilled her duty as a woman. She had married and successfully borne a child, the much-valued male child. Mary had done her duty as a queen to secure the line of succession for Scotland. Mary had done what Elizabeth refused against the urging of many and denied herself for many valid reasons. She could not help but to wonder, as she rested her head in her hand. _If I had risked tearing apart my beloved England to marry Robert as my father had for my mother._  Elizabeth closed her eyes and pursed her thin lips. It was useless to think of the impossible path. She knew her belly would never stir with Robin’s baby inside. No child to honour with either of her parent’s names. She dared not to even imagine the black haired children Robert had keenly desired to have with her. The half-Tudor and half-Dudley children who were never to be. 

_Will the Prince of Scots grow to look like Robin?_

"The Queen and King have named the young prince, James, Your Majesty," continued Sir James Melville who stood awkwardly as he watched the English Queen's reaction. _James._ Elizabeth glanced up at the tired man and she excused him to rest from his long and hasty journey from Edinburgh. Deep down, Elizabeth was happy and hurt by the news. She was happy for Robert and even Mary. Relieved that Mary had survived the dangers of childbirth. Elizabeth feared the high risks of childbirth and was aware of the risk of long minority of a child monarch, as had been the case of her brother Edward's short reign, Mary Stuart's and Mary's father King James V's youth. Elizabeth was not entirely callous to wish for the death of a woman. But if it meant freeing Robert from the marriage and it came with a child, a royal child. The selfish part of her was well aware of the chance and she had hoped for Robin to be hers again and the infant if Mary had died.  

Her mind flitted as she heard Lady Elizabeth Knollys' laugh over the din. Elizabeth thought of another cousin of hers, one she was close to, Lady Elizabeth's elder sister, Lettice Knollys. She wondered how Lettice fared at the end of her pregnancy. The Viscountess Hereford was away from court to give birth to her third child at Chartley. Her cousins were mothers, whilst she was self imposed virgin. Elizabeth was still plagued with the fantasy of herself accepting Robert's proposal and marrying him. _Or proposing myself_ , she thought. Would it have been her knackered yet blissful with a black haired child in her arms and Robert there by her side beaming with love and pride? 

At this thought, Elizabeth let out a dramatic cry of anguish stilling the crowd into silence. Her ladies were all up at once shielding her from view but Melville had heard her and saw her. He was likely relishing to inform his queen of this display after all the humiliation Elizabeth had caused him with her impossible questions about her and his queen.  

* * *

In her chambers, she sat alone unsmiling and breathing heavily. She realized she was no longer alone when she saw the shimmer of Lady Mary Sidney's lace veil out of the corner of her eye. Elizabeth motioned for her dear friend to come sit next to her. Elizabeth felt better knowing she could count on the love and friendship of Robert's kin. They were all but legally her own family. Elizabeth smiled faintly as Robin's elder sister sat by her. 

“Your Majesty? Are you unwell?” asked Lady Mary Sidney with concern. Elizabeth waved off her kind concern. "Shall I send for the physician?"

"No my lady." She paused then laughed devoid of a smile, "Did you hear the news from Sir Melville?”

Lady Mary shook her head that she had not. Lady Sidney likely surmised what the news from Scotland was yet she waited for Elizabeth to divulge it. Elizabeth stared at her fine hands as she spoke, “Our Robin has at last become a father today. He is the father of a prince!" The joy in her voice sounded hollow even to her ears. "I suppose we should drink to rejoice the birth of your royal nephew and my cousin, Queen of Scots' health," she turned to Robert's elder sister. Elizabeth raised her gold cup and Mary drank to the health of Prince James of Scotland. 

"I am happy for my brother," stated Lady Mary neutrally under her lace veil. She was genuinely delighted at the thought of her brother’s happiness. He had been a loving uncle to her children. Thus, she could not help but to add, “Rob must be overjoyed.” Yet Lady Mary seemed to hold back on her honest words on the subject, until she whispered,

"Forgive me for saying this, my queen. I would have preferred he had such joy here in England. Robin was the most happy by your Majesty's side."

 _the most happy._ Elizabeth tried to not flinch at the casual utterance of her mother's motto. 

Elizabeth sat silently with her cup in her hand and she could feel Lady Mary’s watchful gaze awaiting a sign of Elizabeth's agreement or any reaction. It never came. 

 

[i'm juliannakatharina on tumblr](http://juliannakatharina.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was wondering if my assumption is correct regarding which faith these AU Dudley-Stuart children will be raised in? I assume Catholic, since Mary is the queen and is Catholic and she did have real life James VI and I christened in a Catholic ceremony. But I feel like since Robert was such a staunch Protestant (Darnley was wishy washy in his faith) and with the backing of Protestant lords he would try to have the children be brought up in his faith. I am not sure what would be realistic? I still see a Catholic Dudley-Stuart being pressured/willingly converting for the sake of peace like Henri Bourbon did in reverse. I have spent so much time debating this in my head.
> 
> Leave a review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: 
> 
> * blood mention  
> * miscarriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been over a year since i have updated. so this may be a mess. 
> 
> the first part was inspired from watching the series, alias grace.

**An Account of Unknown Ladye**

[previously believed to be Mary Seton or Jane Kennedy] published in France, circa. 1604

_December 18th 1565_

I never knew what to make of my queen and her second husband's relationship. Aye, it was a marriage of convenience as royalty and nobles do, but even that seemed to be inadequate a term to describe it. Perhaps, it was a mixture of my [proud] blood that could not stomach this man as the prince consort and my inability to be charmed by his handsome looks and manners. 

I was perplexed by this Englishman. I have heard that the Spanish ambassadors and the English lords never understood his _relationship_ with Queen Elizabeth either.

Even years later, when the two queens of this isle and Leicester were all long dead, the grown royal bairns struggled to grasp their parents' marriage and the English queen's relationship with their father. 

I wonder if history will figure it out? 

Or will they accept the conflicting tales spun by a son who is the first of a new dynasty and has now bound two divisive realms together.

Or the tales that blacken the already tarnished Robert Dudley and make the two queens, victims?

Or the version created in vain by a daughter who forgave her father and sought to deify him as a means to make amends. To protect her adoring image of her father as the perfect of husbands and fathers, but in order for this, she had attacked the image of Gloriana and placed all of her father's faults, her mother's troubles at the hands of the midnight crow's daughter. 

Sadly for King Jamie and the other bairns, they could not scrub their father's reputation clean with any more ease than one tries to clean blood and mud out of stark-white silk and velvet. 

I don't believe either Jamie's or Mary-Elisabeth's version. 

I admit that I don't know a thing about what was done between the English queen and Leicester. 

But I truly believe for a time Leicester wanted my queen dead or deposed from her throne, however, I have also seen for my own eyes how he fought for her and those moments of domesticity. 

I can recall the gleam in my queen's hazel eyes and her barely suppressed grin as the Prince Consort looked over the plans for Arthurian theme for the christening. His face must have showed his realization of what Queen Mary wished to tell the court, the world, and more so, the English queen, Elizabeth. I had not been looking at the handsome prince but I noticed the queen's sweet mouth twitched. The dark Englishman's voice was clipped, 

 _"King Arthur? It is quite the message you wish to send. Might as well proclaim him King of England already,"_ he grumbled to himself, but I heard him alright. He was likely wondering how Queen Elizabeth would react publicly and privately. My mistress, Queen Mary wanted to let Elizabeth know that little wee Prince James would ascend the unmarried and childless Elizabeth's throne. Everyone at court knew how our Queen was still furious at not being named the heir to the English throne.

I had thought her ire to be righteous. She had taken in a lesser horse to stud in exchange for the recognition that she get the golden crown when the queen died without a child of her own, but in end the queen had sold her a poor deal. Therefore, it was only right for my queen to seek vindication for her true rights to the English throne to be officially recognized. 

Those Tudors must be wilier than the ruthless merchants at the market that I have bartered or gambled at cards with. But our queen would get her vindication, I knew that then and as I do now as her eldest bairn is ruling and ordering portraits of my queen, his mother to be hung up and the removal of Elizabeth's in all them English castles. 

_"In my end is my beginning"_

_A light laugh and the smallest of smiles. Was it truly a smile?_

_"You'll see."_

How often I had heard those words repeated. I can still hear her softly yet fiercely whisper them. 

But I digress. 

I did not like him then, that Gypsy husband of my young and beautiful queen. He was a decent man to serve from what I heard from the other servants, but I had heard the most lurid tales about him.  

The ladies and maids giggled about him. Handsome this man was, aye, with the look of a heroic knight from an Arthurian tale. According to Jane and Marie, my poor queen believed him to _hers,_ during her weakest points. I think a part of him wished he could be.

Right then with his peevish look, I saw a villain. 

 _"Oh, I love King Arthur. I have read the books many times,"_ shrugged Queen Mary as if the implication had never occurred to her. I smiled at this. For while it may be true, Leicester snorted knowing her true reasoning with a smile and a shake of his head,

" _And you also love your ancestor Charlemagne as our son is Prince James Charles."_

 _"I am simply seeing to that he has the most splendid christening. Well what do you think of the plans?"_ The corners of her mouth curved with a hidden smile.

 _"A Catholic christening_ ," he grumbled moodily. That bothered Prince Robert greatly, it was plain to see. It was no secret that he had radical Puritan beliefs. The Queen and the Prince Consort had argued about this already and he had gotten only her angry tears and retorts. My queen wouldn't yield and I knew my lord Moray and the rest of them lords would not rally behind the Prince this time at least. 

 _"You know what I think, but you do not wish to see the wisdom of my wishes. You forget I am his father. It would be best in terms of-"_ Queen Mary glowered at him resolutely. 

 _"You forget I am his mother and the queen of this realm, not Elizabeth or yourself. I bore James and I shall not allow my minsters or hers to have a say in this matter. Think again if you dare to plot against me on this matter."_ Robert took care to not betray the surprise that Mary had found him out. I threaded the gold thread through my needle as I had just realized I run out of thread. 

 _"You are more her lap dog than a father to my child."_ I halted my stitching to look up at him curiously. I wondered like many others surely did here on this isle and abroad, if Leicester had fornicated with the English queen. 

Prince Robert went red with ire at her accusation and opened his mouth like a fish. 

He looked almost violent? Or mere embarrassment?

 Queen Mary suggested coldly,

 _"Do not attend James' christening if it will offend you so."_ I did not think my queen meant this for she would not have like the speculation sprung if Robert was absent from the festivities in his son's honour. 

 _"I shall perform my duties as host to this spectacle in honour of our son,_ " he stated evenly, choosing to not respond to being called the English Queen 's lap dog. 

I saw her demeanour relax yet she continued on a business like manner,  _"I was going to ask you to speak to the merchants, but I shall ask for a loan from them myself."_

He opened his mouth again to say something. Unfortunately, his dark blue eyes finally noticed me sitting there quietly and he was displeased that I had heard every word. He spat in the most polite tone he could muster,

" _Your Grace, our son will have a perfect King Arthur themed christening."_ He placed the papers down a bit violently than necessary. _"If you shall take leave of me, I bid you good day, madam."_ My queen picked up the papers and arranged them in a neat stack, whilst he bowed to her. 

Leicester had just turned to leave the room, when Mary's soft voice stopped him. 

 _"The Ladies Greys will not be placed above myself and our son. Elizabeth has one in the Tower and her sons are bastards,"_ argued Queen Mary haughtily. I did not understand this but it must have been a reference to an earlier row. _"I hope you don't prefer your dead brother's widow. Do you not wish me as the heiress of England?"_

Robert turned back to look her steadily in the eye, _"I desire nothing more."_  She did not respond but she glanced at the door before going back to her work.

I frowned at my unfinished needlework, his bear with the ragged staff with Mary's emblem of marigolds, the royal crown, cipher, the thistle. As I continued my work, I pricked my thumb by accident. 

A drop of blood fell on the bear. I moved quickly to prevent a stain on the embroidery. 

I briefly wondered a treasonous thought that I have not confessed until now.

I wondered if it were better for Mary if Robert suffered from an unsuspicious accident.

Men led to trouble, men were trouble, and fair queen Mary, well, I as much as I love her, I did not trust she could pick out a good man amongst the devilish sort.  

* * *

 **Mary**  

Stirling Castle, _January_ _17th 1566_  

At the last supper in honour of James' baptism, Mary proudly looked on from her seat in the Great Hall. The twelve men and six women led by Bastian Pagez were dressed as satyrs and nymphs as they served and entertained her guests. They served the first two courses of 50 different dishes from an ingenious mechanical platform made especially for this event. 

Her son's baptism festivities and jousts had exceeded her personal finances (and the monies she used from Church revenue). Requiring her to raise taxes for 40,000 for the first time in her personal reign. She also had received a loan of 12,000 Scotch pounds from merchants in Edinburgh. In her opinion, every pound spent on this event had been worth it. All the costumes for all her lords and every servant, every craftsman who built the stages and scenery for the masques. The comptroller of the Royal Artillery had spent six weeks preparing for the firework display. She had George Buchanan and Bastian Pagez work together in creating the verses for the masques. 

The grand affair had been perfect and splendid as Mary had envisioned with blatant references to Prince James as the second King Arthur. 

She turned to Robert seated at her side and watched him indulge heartily. He of course had not been physically present at their son's Catholic baptism, choosing to pettily stand outside the church doors with her brothers, the Earl of Bedford, and the other Protestant lords. But Robert had taken part in the 'Round Table' tournament. The sport had not relieved his frustrations with her as the two had not spoken much beyond the required pleasantries. Mary supposed she should be pleased that he did not cause further scandal.  

"My lord, there is a third and fourth course still to be served," she reminded as she picked at one of the rich dishes served to her. 

"I very much like artichokes," he explained in-between bites without a glance at her. Mary turned to Francis Russell, the Earl of Bedford (Ambrose Dudley's new father-in-law) who had been sent by Elizabeth as her ambassador. Elizabeth was James's godmother and she had sent a gift of a gold font weighing 333 ounces for her godson, whom she referred to as her " _nephew and cousin_ " in her letters. 

"Her Majesty is very generous with her gift to our prince," she addressed Bedford. 

"Her Majesty regrets the size is not suitable for a royal babe of three months. It may prove better suited for when Your Grace is blessed with a second prince or a princess," Bedford humbly repeated the lie his queen had ordered him to repeat. Mary smiled politely.

She turned her head and caught sight of the pale skinned, Jean Gordon. Mary strongly approved of the match between Jean and Lord Bothwell. 

Mary conversed with her other guests charmingly as a queen ought to, but her mind was busy plotting.

She was frustrated with Robert and Elizabeth. Mary had been married to Robert for over a year without the reward which she had gambled her marriage card for. How dare he coolly treat her when he proved to be unhelpful in her aims? She had been more than patient enough. More than conciliatory than she need have. 

Her self-esteem was running high with the birth of James. However, it was the news from Rome that changed everything. On the day after her twenty-third birthday, the Pope who had failed to endorse her dynastic claim to the English throne had _died_. 

Thus, she became convinced the death of Pope Pius IV on December 9 of 1565 might prove to be a gift to her. Perhaps, it was the time to change her tactics in vindicating her rights. Since her return, Mary had done nothing to bring Scotland back under Catholicism as she was criticized for.  However, she would have to prepare to face opposition if she were to embark on a new campaign to renew her Catholic claim.  

And now with a new pope elected ten days past, Mary had her Italian musician David Riccio write coded letters to her uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine, King Philip of Spain, and to Pope Pius V. 

"What jest has my lord Bedford told?" asked her half-brother quietly.

"Oh look the angel!" she exclaimed as an 'angel' descended from the ceiling of the Great Hall to recite pretty verses. Mary felt momentarily transported to her memories of the sumptuous pageantry of the French court. Sadly, it was a fleeting moment for disaster struck as the mechanical platform broke and the fourth course could not be served. Yet Mary's sense of success was undisturbed until Bastian Pagez and his fellow costumed satyrs insulted her English guests, resulting in a scene almost turned violent but was thankfully diffused by Bedford, Robert and Mary herself.

"What was Pagez thinking?" grumbled Robert as he glowered at the Frenchman.

"That Englishmen possessed a sense of humour," she quietly retorted in defence of her loyal servant. Lord Bothwell had howled raucously at the insulted English nobles and now snorted loudly. Mary flushed that she had been overheard but seeing that it was _Bothwell_ and not Bedford. She returned Bothwell's conspiratorial grin with Robert stonily observing the shared look. 

* * *

**Robert**

_May 28th 1566_

"What is happening?" he called out grumpily, having been rudely woken by John from a dream about Elizabeth. His manservant spoke quickly and Robert groaned trying to hide his hard-. John quickly grabbed one of his dressing robes and held it out for Robert to don it. Robert complained, 

"What is it that the demands me to awoken at such an hour?" Robert slowly sat up and his tired eyes glanced at the wall as he heard various loud scuffling of feet and noises coming from Mary's apartments.

John urgently repeated louder, 

_"Your Grace, I was told that the Queen is suffering from a miscarriage."_

He paled and leapt out of bed rushing in just his nightshirt to Mary's adjoining chamber with John following with Robert's robe.  

"I am so sorry," he managed to croak in his shock. On her knees, Mary howled in anguish at her bloodied nightgown and at the large blood stain on the bedsheets. Armageddon was yapping loudly at all the frenzied movements in his mistress' chamber. The dog was too small to leap onto the bed so it barked at Robert's feet. 

"Non, non! No, why? Pourquoi? What did I do wrong?" she cried in pain, and fright. "No, no. My bébé!" Robert was tortured from his dream and from waking to hear the hysterical cries of Mary miscarrying what could have been their second child. His foot twinge with a dull pain of stubbing it as he frantically ran into a leg of a chair in his chamber. There was a sense of pain, a new kind, a pain he had not felt in his life. He had yesterday or the day before felt the babe move fiercely. 

Mary sobbed she doubled over, "Am I going to die?"

Robert looked at his wife's attendants. 

"Have any of you sent for the physician yet?" he shouted around before his own strength in remaining calm tapped out. 

"The physician has been sent for. I-" Robert was at loss for words, "I am sorry," pleaded Robert over and over to God, Mary, and the lost baby. The blood shook him. 

"Robert," cried Mary shaking as she looked up from her bloodied hands. Her eyes were filled with trust in him- She looked so incredibly young and fragile. Rob had to lower his own eyes brimmed with tears. 

"It will be alright Mary - you and I are young. There will be more babies," he tried to reassure her and himself with a stronger voice. "You did nothing wrong, it was just-" His voice cracked with pain. 

_God's Will?_

_Surely dreams could not hold such power?_

_James had been born despite it all._

_Why? Oh, why?_

_Is He displeased with me?_

Somehow, he could not express the same reassuring sentiments he had said or wrote to Amy when she could not fall with child easily and when she miscarried. 

Robert shakily pressed his forehead to the wooden bedpost. He would write to the Earl of Mar, to make sure James was healthy.

_If James were to die, I'd go mad._

Mary rambled hysterically, "I already gave the bairn a name! I had dreams of him. I called him Robert Francis. I dreamt of him learning to ride a pony with James. You should have seen him he had most beautiful curls. He felt so real. Then tonight, I woke with such awful pain and -and now he is gone!" She sobbed into Mary Seton's arms. Shouldn't she be crying in his arms? He was only an arm's length away, yet he felt as far away as Calais. "He is gone. Why?" Lady Mary Seton whispered something to her mistress and friend comfortingly. Robert caught Lady Seton's glare at him. 

"Thank you, my Lady Seton," he dismissed courteously as he sat on the bed by his wife. Mary Seton, stubbornly, did not leave her queen's side. Only moving to stand by the bed as if she were a sentry at her post.   

"My baby. I want our baby, Robert." Mary Robert was pained by her anguish, at how she looked at him with such tenderness and trust. She had imagined another son with his name. Mary wanted a son named for him. He felt numbing discomfort that he could not conjure an image of what this loss could have been. Was it a mother's love that it made it easier to imagine? 

"Don't blame yourself," he insisted in a soft voice. He reached out for her hand, ignoring Seton's eyes on him. "Please don't blame yourself." 

"The physician will be here soon, my queen," repeated one of the ladies, the plump pretty blonde with dark eyes, Mary Beaton. He recalled for a fleeting moment of attending her wedding to Alexander Ogilvy of Boyne last month.

Robert did not flinch at the feel of warm blood on his wife's hand and held it tighter. 

"Did you hear that my Mary? He will have a draught for your pain." 

"I do not think he has anything for the pain that in my heart." Mary rested her head on his shoulder. 

"My mother had 9 living sons and daughters and your grand-mére had a dozen children. We shall have a brood to marry every prince or princess on the continent." His delivery came out a tad cold and dismissive, but he was in shock. Lady Mary Seton glared at him severely and her impertinent foot  _accidentally_ stepped on his. 

"My apologies, Your Grace." Though she did not sound sorry at all. Robert would have said something to Seton but he focussed on Mary. Mary nodded weakly before swooning from the pain and loss of blood. Her grip slackened, but he did not let go.

He did not remember letting go of her hand or leaving her chamber, but he woke up in his own bed. 

The evidence of wine and ale in his chamber, the sensation of heaviness as he hobbled to use the privy, told him he had drunk himself to sleep. 

"Your Grace, would you like to have your hands washed?" asked John, after Robert finished relieving himself. 

"Why?" Robert barked incredulously. John gestured to his hands. Robert looked at his hands and the sight of the dried blood.

"The queen?" he whispered in horror as the memories of the night and morning flooded back all at once. 

"The queen is asleep and is attended to closely, Your Grace. The physician delivered a tiny dead babe of the male sex. The queen requested the fetus be buried with her mother." Robert watched John wash away his wife's and dead son's blood off his hands with a wet linen cloth. 

"Your Grace?" 

Blue eyes looked at the sandy haired man, "Yes, John." 

"I am terribly sorry for your loss. Your Grace, forgive me for speaking forwardly, I know how much you care for your family and the Queen." 

Robert recoiled his hands as if burned and gave John a sad smile.

"Thank you, John."  

* * *

  **Robert**

Stirling Castle, _last week of July 1566_

Robert and Mary had journeyed to Stirling Castle to see their son for a week. They were greeted by the Earl of Mar and his family who were in charge with the care of little James. Robert longed to see his son more often than he had the chance to. He (and Mary) insisted on daily reports on his son's health and care.

Robert poured his love for his first child by ordering the finest clothes for James' wardrobe. 

"What a handsome prince you are," cooed Mary as she held the baby in her arms. James had on a smock gown of silver cloth for his parents' visit. The silver brought out the intense blue in his eyes. "You have had the most splendid christening. Maman ensured you did." Her face aglow with pride. Those heavy lower eyelids instead of its usual sleepy look of enchantment. Eyes, which were so promising and he had been reassured by, now curiously reminded Robert of the heavy lidded eyes of a dragon.

The last fair woman to be described as such was Elizabeth's great grandmother and Mary's great-great grandmother, Elizabeth Woodville. He made a cursory glance at the portrait of Mary's father James V that still hung on the wall here at Stirling, suggested he too had the same slanted, heavy lidded eyes. 

Depending on [which ancient tale of half-woman and half dragon or serpentine Melusine was real one](https://books.google.ca/books?id=06FkpD0ihzMC&pg=PA121&lpg=PA121&dq=line+of+melusine&source=bl&ots=rZfXG4HFJO&sig=zsIn3q_jp0NUJM9QvFvm6poEPTc&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiopYTJprzXAhVB6GMKHQdNDIEQ6AEIbDAO#v=onepage&q=line%20of%20melusine&f=false) and [which great royal house(s) truly descended](https://venerablevixens.wordpress.com/2013/06/10/the-line-of-melusina-jacquetta-of-luxembourg/) from this queen of Bethlehem, Mary could claim to be a descendant. 

Dragons and mermaids were not exactly flattering things to be compared to, the Anti-Christ or a whore? 

He bit his lip knowing what those deep set amber eyes coveted most. Perhaps Mary was tainted with the Devilish magic of her ancestor and would be haunted for life with a sad song of impending death and doom. 

Or as Cecil and Knox viewed her, as a 'monstrous dragon' and the threat to Protestantism. Robert himself supported Mary's hereditary rights and had tried to delicately argue for it without garnering Elizabeth's jealousy. 

Robert smiled at the gurgled baby laughter Mary had elicited from James as she kissed those lovable rosy cheeks. 

If she were to continue this course against his advice in her determination to vindicate her rights to the English throne then there was very little Robert would do to protect her.

Robert had looked away from the tender scene of mother and son. He had already softened to her more than he ever intended to. They still had not spoken of their kiss or of the words exchanged the night after James' birth. Robert was glad of it because he did not know how to explain his actions. Of how he sat her bedside after the miscarriage but only while she was asleep. Why did he always find an excuse to not be around when she stirred? 

He murmured to himself, ["Oh, Mary, Mary." Quite contrary,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary,_Mary,_Quite_Contrary) she was to his beliefs and his loyalties. 

He thought of William Cecil who desired to see the isle under Protestantism only. _It is what I want as well._ He thought of he, Robert, the father of James wanted for his son. In the practical sense, how much easier it would be for James to be accepted as the next king of England if he were raised a Protestant.

He frowned slightly as he watched Mary with the baby walk along the ramparts in the heavy morning mist. His children were going to be raised Catholic if he did not gain influence over Mary. 

He had lived for the slim chance that Elizabeth would marry him and would have kept on waiting. He still could not help but to imagine his Bess in Mary's place. He imagined Elizabeth glancing over her shoulder at him with that charming grin of hers and those bewitching black eyes sparkling only for him. Robert's heart ached for the woman and queen he loved so much and for everything that would never be. His mood grew dark and despondent as his mind drifted to further fantasies of Elizabeth as a mother of his children and his wife. Robert hated how much his happiness depended on Elizabeth. Her smiles of sunshine, her touch, everything. He would have been at her side, bolstering and aiding her sovereignty. Steadfast and loyal to her, ever the same...

The high pitched gurgled laughter of his _son_ cut through his gloomy mind. Robert felt a sharp twinge of shame for having a disloyal thought of desiring an entirely  _different_ child by a different mother. A living, healthy child was a blessing, when too many babes did not live long. He dwelled on the baby Mary had miscarried at near five months last May.    

Robert love his son very deeply. Holding James for the first time had been one of the most moving moments of his life. The surge of affection and protectiveness was the most instantaneous he had ever felt for someone. Hadn't he longed for this, fatherhood? Why couldn't he be content with what he now had? 

He looked around to find Mary and their son were several feet away from him. If the sun had not poked through the clouds, Robert would not have been able to see them in the thick mist. How long had he been standing there musing his fantasies that Mary had walked far enough to be out of reach and almost out of earshot, Robert watch Mary 'float' and twirl with James in her arms further and further from him. The echo of Mary's soft voice reached his ears as he began to walk in longer strides after them. She was singing in a mixture of both Scotch and French and James' cooing reverberated in the still morning air. 

"Wait," Robert called out. "Mary!" Mary stopped and chuckled as she turned around,

"Are you feeling neglected, Robert?" she called to him. Robert half ran to them and as he did he saw James gaze up at his mother and touch the textures of the brocade and lace of Mary's gown with interest before that sweet round face had eyes only for his father.  

"Quite so," he replied in a mock pout and with an ache to hold James. His fantasy of a Tudor-Dudley child slipped away as he gazed at his baby of Scottish royal stock with his eyes. "I continue to marvel at his growth since the last we saw him." James appeared to have grown twice in length, since their last brief visit to Stirling Castle. Robert smiled and bent his head to be eye level with his son's clear blue eyes. James's curious gaze followed the feather plumes in Robert's black cap.

"James is a long, and sturdy lad," Mary agreed lovingly and chuckled at James softly, "I think our little prince desires to have your cap." Robert grinned as he removed his cap and held it out to James. James tried to put the velvet cap into his mouth as he had with Mary's necklace earlier.

"It is for wearing not for eating," laughed Robert. He placed his velvet cap much too large on his five month old son's head. "Where did James go?" Blinded by the much too large velvet cap, James turned his head around in confusion. Before he could fuss, Mary lifted the cap so James could see. His blue eyes crinkled with happiness to see the smiling faces of the man and woman who came to visit him and showered him with attention.

"There he is!" exclaimed Mary. James gave a shrill squeal of delight and they did the little game many times as James did not seem to tire of it. The sun finally poked out of clouds and James' infectious laughter lightened his father's mood. 

At their return to the castle, James began to fuss and was handed off to his wet nurse to attend to his soiled nappy and feedings. Robert and Mary looked upon the royal nursery with greater detail. She made some pleased remarks of her approval to which Robert could only smile and nod in response. Later on, Robert made some requests concerning the attendants of the nursery to his son's guardian John Eskrine, the Earl of Mar.  

* * *

**Mary**

Falkland Palace, _August 1566_

Mary was overjoyed to receive news from the Spanish court about her childhood friend and former sister-in-law Elisabeth. Elisabeth had given birth to a daughter, the Infanta Isabella Clara Eugenia. It became Mary's desire to procure a betrothal between baby Prince James and King Phillip and Elisabeth's infant daughter in the future. She penned a rather lengthy letter to Elisabeth, congratulating on the birth of her Infanta and reaffirming her sisterly love for Elisabeth. Mary wrote pretty lines of their childhood friendship and their love for each other. Now they both shared the experience of new motherhood and she expressed her wish that their illustrious children would share the same love and friendship they, Mary and Elisabeth, held for each other. Mary scrawled her signature 'MarieR' at the end and sealed the letter. She smiled with bright hope for the future as she handed the letter off to the messenger who set off on his journey immediately. 

She frowned in thought if 'sweet sister and cousin' Elizabeth dared to try to block Mary's marital plans for her son.

But Mary also thought of her promising secret correspondence with Rome, but she beginning to grow impatient. She much preferred actions than the waiting game. It truly did not matter if Robert or Rome would be the means she used to gain official recognition of her rights. She reminded herself she still had much to hope for.

"Where is he off to?" asked Robert who appeared when the messenger had just bowed out of the room.

"I have sent a letter to the King of Spain and one for my dearest Elisabeth."

"The Infanta's birth," Robert murmured neutrally. Mary nodded and Robert took her hand in his. She gave it a squeeze. 

"I think we should go to Seaton-house," suggested Mary happily. His mouth quirked into a smile and Mary beamed at the idea of having Robert's attention.

"Your favoured retreat. I am sure the court would like a change in scenery." What she also wanted was another baby, a Margaret Elisabeth or a Robert Francis. Surely now after the awful miscarriage in May, she would fall pregnant again.

"I meant just by  _ourself_ ," she corrected archly. Robert had looked indulgent in her suggestion, immediately dropped her hand unthinkingly. He was suddenly closed off. Mary blinked partially in genuine confusion, but she felt a strange hurt. She spoke aloud, "I suppose some of my ladies could come too of course. My Lethington, my half-brothers, and David." 

"Any particular reason you wish to go to Seaton?" asked Rob in a faraway voice as he walked over to the small window. 

"Perhaps, I shall send for James Hepburn to come to Seaton as well. If you remember, the Earl has advised me to look into the Borders," she pondered. Mary began to wonder if Robert had even heard her. A strong demanding part of her wanted to scream _'look at me!_ ' 

"And his wife, Jean of course." 

"What was that?" Robert seemed to have recovered from his spell. He looked at her kindly and having his attention again lifted the anxious ache at her breast. 

"I wish to go riding," answered Mary simply as she looked at the ledgers and the parchment on her desk. It would be wonderful to enjoy life without the responsibilities and burdens weighing upon her shoulders. Robert looked tired and in one of his melancholic moods. "Anways, it is the summer. We shall return to Holyrood or Edinburgh Castle in October." 

"As Your Grace wishes. Seaton does have lovely grounds," replied Robert with a small smile as Mary kissed him on the cheek. "I say we go alone then perhaps journey to the Borders." 

"Or visit James," she added. 

* * *

**Robert**

 At a beach near Prestonpans, some miles from Seton Palace, _October 12 1566_

They were dressed as common folk at Mary's insistence. Robert did not enjoy wearing the plain, worn clothes for it only reminded him of his family's disgrace and his disheveled state of dress during his imprisonment in the Tower. Robert learned she enjoyed to go out and about in dressed as a peasant woman or as a merchant's wife and on some occasions even clad in men's clothes. Robert had yet to stroll through the streets of Edinburgh with his wife dressed in a man's costume. He glanced at her skirts and thought of her long white legs clad in hose.

He grunted at the feel of claws scratch his calves. Looking down at the small black terrier, he gently commanded, 

"Armageddon, down." The small terrier gave a shrill yap in response before sniffing the air and scurrying away. 

Robert walked on the rough sand of the beach, grinning at his wolfhounds loping ahead happily. He paused to look up above at the gulls fly overhead. His dark hair ruffling by the strong wind coming off the sea. Mary's black terrier obediently kept to a closer range to its mistress. Mary stopped in her tracks. Robert looked over to see her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply.

"How I love the sea," she sighed dreamily after she exhaled. Robert raised an eyebrow as he stared past her at the never-ending expanse of dark grey-blue water.

"Oh?"

"Mhmm," she replied simply as she walked closer so that the toes of her leather boots met the ebb and flow of the seawater. "Is not wondrous?" 

"I imagine the water is too cold to swim," Robert warned as their thick wool capes flapped with the cool sea-wind. "If you catch ill from these frigid waters, do not say I did not warn you." He spoke to her as if she were a child-woman. In some ways, she still was in his opinion. 

Mary looked at him as if he had challenged her to a dare but she flippantly admitted, "Oh, I don't know how to swim. I love the sea nevertheless."

"You never learned?" he said in surprise. "Why?" He treaded to where she stood. She shrugged,

"My grand-mérè and my uncles did not think it wise for me to learn should I fall ill from cold water." 

"I meant why do you love the sea?" Mary blushed and looked down at her hands.

"It sounds silly." She bit her lip and gazed back at the sea. Robert waited watching the wind blow stray tendrils of her fair hair into her face.

"It was what brought me to France as a child and was what brought me back here. I suppose I find it special and symbolic because of that reason." Her heavy lowered eyes lowered. Robert did not find her reasoning silly at all. "I love the salty smell, how the horizons are endless- look at it!" Robert did as he was told. "To feel so small beneath the sky but yet also feel so free. The sea can be serene, and it can storm, but the sea is unowned by man. No one controls the sea. It changes all the time. I quite like that." 

"I like the danger," she admitted with a reckless grin. She broke out into a bell-like laughter, whilst he got chills down his spine. Why? He agreed with her. Was it because he knew of the instructions to seize Mary's person as she had made her unauthorized passage back to her homeland years ago. 

He watched Mary twirl around gaily with her arms outstretched to the sky. Dog and the others returned from their spree of chasing the gulls off the beach. Robert sat down and called the dogs to him. Only Dog and Armageddon complied with his calls. The others were distracted by Mary and the water lapping onto the beach. He scratched Dog behind the ears as he continued to follow Mary's twirling movements. The heavy serge skirts did not move with elegance as a fine gown of silk or satin does. But it was her light footwork and slender figure that made a contrast to the harsh surroundings. 

Singing gaily, Mary ran over to him and sat indecorously on his lap. He laughed and held her waist tightly. When she finished, he sang a less poetic song he had learned during his time as a soldier, before Calais was humiliatingly lost from England's possession. Before, his brother Henry had died and before Ambrose was wounded. He gazed at the dark water as he continued to sing, remembering their dark time together in the Tower. But also remembering the happy memories, the golden childhood the Dudleys had had. It seemed now so long ago, with him apart from his living sisters and brother. 

"Those are such bawdy words," she chided insincerely, jolting Robert back to the present. He smirked. 

"Madam, shall I relay the bawdy thoughts I am having with you in my lap instead?"

"No," Mary retorted regally, but her hand stroked his stubbled cheek. "You should not, my lord." Her voice was now a whisper, a invitation. Her mouth curved into a small smile and her eyes.

"Pity," he whispered huskily in her ear. "Do I have your permission to demonstrate instead?" 

"If it pleases me," she answered. Mary blushed furiously as his dark head disappeared under her skirts. " _Oh!_ " 

* * *

**Mary**

Stirling Castle, _October 10th 1566_

Her baby was eleven months and ten days old. And with any luck, James would be joined next year with a baby brother or sister.

Not that she believed luck really had to do with how babies were created. 

Robert touched her waist. 

"I continue to marvel at his growth since the last we saw him." James appeared to have grown twice in length, since their last brief visit. He certainly felt heavier in her arms. Robert smiled and bent his head to be eye level with his son's clear blue eyes. James's curious gaze followed the feather plumes in Robert's black cap.

"James is a long, and sturdy lad," Mary agreed lovingly and chuckled at James softly, "I think our little prince desires to have your cap." Robert grinned as he removed his cap and held it out to James. James tried to put the velvet cap into his mouth as he had with Mary's necklace earlier.

"It is for wearing not for eating," laughed Robert. He placed his velvet cap much too large on their eleven month old's head. "Where did James go?" Blinded by the much too large velvet cap, James turned his head around in confusion. Before he could fuss, Mary lifted the cap so James could see. His blue eyes crinkled with happiness to see the smiling faces of the man and woman who came to visit him and showered him with attention.

"There he is!" exclaimed Mary. James gave a shrill squeal of delight and they did the little game many times as James did not seem to tire of it.

Robert carried James as they walked to the knotted garden by the west walls of Stirling Castle. Concerned about their son's health, Robert stopped to readjust the blanket to protect James from a chill. One of James's arms had broke free from restraint of the swaddled blanket and pulled on Robert's moustache with fascinated eyes just as Robert had bent his head to kiss James' forehead. Robert yelped a little too loudly in surprise. Mary let out a giggle.

"Be gentle with your father," groaned Robert as he winced at the strength of the tug. Mary smirked. "You laugh at my pain." He had to gently pry his son's tiny fingers from further assault to his perfectly trimmed moustache.

"Oh of course not," Mary insisted with amusement. James became imperiously upset and cried in frustration. "Oh, I know your papa is so terribly vain."

**Robert**

Robert harrumphed and rolled his eyes at her teasing accusation.

"I recall a very loud exclamation from Her Grace, when the royal head of hair was assaulted by the same little prince." Robert grinned as he watched Mary's fair brows knit into a frown. He swept into a dramatic bow with the baby in his arm and stalked off along the symmetrical parterres. He bounced James in his arms as he waited for the click clack of Mary's heeled boots on the stone path.

"It was of surprise!" Mary huffed from behind. "Robert!"

"The red lioness stalks the noble bear in the garden," Robert laughed quietly to James as he turned back to see Mary lifting her dark red skirts to follow them more quickly. "His only defence is his cub and of course his honeyed words and her admiration for his wit and strength of character." He heard an audible snort from Mary. He looked over his shoulder and _saw_ Elizabeth in the garden allee.

Heart pounding fast, Robert stopped in his tracks and blinked stunned. 

_Elizabeth was striding towards him with her face flushed and golden red hair aglow like a goddess._

_Bess,_ he wanted to both sigh and shout aloud.

"Robert, don't be ridiculous," laughed Mary. He gulped and looked away as Mary Stuart beamed at him.

Was he going slowly mad? Was he going to be plagued by phantom images of Elizabeth?

He croaked, "Ah, your mother is immune to my charms. Any defence or diplomacy tactics, my boy?" James, predictably, offered Robert no help. James made a swipe for his moustache again. Mary caught up up and clutched his upper arm. "Fealty only to your mother, I see."

Mary chuckled in Robert's ear,

"Well, I am the queen." She smiled merrily at their son.

"My darling boy," she crooned. James's little paw took a swipe at Robert's face. His bright eyes still fascinated by Robin's long nose and moustache.

"Oh no no. Let's pick a posy of flowers for your mother instead of my hair." Robert tried to divert James' attention to the wilting blooms several times but the little lad was insistent. James began to cry and go red with frustration.

"Oh my poor little prince. Let me hold him, Robert."

Robert pled to his small child,

"James, you may have everything you want but not my moustache."

"Robert," Mary said with little patience and growing concern for the baby's cries.

"He will calm down," insisted Rob.

His fussing lasted until Mary picked a flower from the garden and dangled it before James. James pulled out the petals of the white flower and petals spilled onto the ground. Mary laughed and stopped James from shoving petals into his mouth.

"He is so small yet so lively," enthused Mary who looked eager to hold James again. Robert would have obliged but he did not want to let go even if there was the danger of James attempting to pull out half of his moustache. Mary rested her chin on Robert's shoulder as she beamed and caressed James' small face. "I adore him."

"My impish boy," tutted Robert as he kissed both chubby cheeks.

"I shall see you soon," Mary promised James. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historically, Mary saw her son for the last time when he was 11 months old.
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